


Re-Encounter

by DagReaper (TyJaxReaper)



Series: The Winter Soldiers' Whim [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Beating, Bedridden Brock Rumlow, Blood and Violence, Brock Rumlow Is A Douche, Brock Rumlow Is Impatient, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Wit, Bucky Barnes Overthinking, Bucky Barnes and the 21st Century, Bucky Knows The Disney Princes, Bucky has a cat, Clint Barton Complains, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bucky Barnes, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Clint, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone's A Shmuck, Feels, Fights, Guys Being Guys, Hate to Love, IKEA Furniture, Injured Brock Rumlow, Kidnapping, Language, Love/Hate, M/M, Nicknames, Ogling, Old Lady Shenanigans, Overthinking, Panicking Bucky Barnes, Past Abuse, Pizza, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Rumlow Gets His Phone Back, Rumlow Nostalgia, Senior HYDRA Agents, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Swearing, TV references, Teasing, Violence, Warning: Chapter 12, in general, so much coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 62,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyJaxReaper/pseuds/DagReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James knew that this was the biggest risk he was taking, bringing home a former HYDRA agent that could easily pawn him off to what was left of the organisation, but he assumed it was from more sentimentality that he wanted to help him, save him. He didn’t want to think that maybe he could reform him if he was still hell bent on ‘hailing HYDRA’, but if he was and he couldn’t help him… then he would tell Steve who he’d been hiding in his bedroom.</p><p>And it was an even stupider risk that he wasn’t going to tell the supersoldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write something with these two for some time, but never got around to it until now. Hopefully you'll enjoy it :)
> 
> I'll tell you now that there will be a type of relationship between them, since this type of story usually does. And there will be a higher rating once I get around to that part of the story. Starting off slow for now though :)

His life was completely screwed up, _he was screwed up_ , and he wasn't even talking about the brainwashing, the mind-wiping, the agonizing torture and the 70 years worth of shit HYDRA put him through. Yeah, it messed with his mind and he blacked out every now and again and sometimes he reverted into the Soldier for a few minutes, _though it rarely happened now_ , and he had a shit-ton of nightmares. But he'd learnt how to handle himself while going through all of it. Romanov and Barton even made sure he could handle himself before letting him do his own thing. The three had lived together for the last few years as assurance.

James had left the Avengers Facility, having decided to move into his own apartment a few blocks away from Stark Tower. Steve lived there with Tony and had wanted him close by, taking James' statement about wanting to live alone into consideration. So he let him live on his own, but just not too far away that it would cause problems if he reverted beyond his control. And James decided to at least give him that, so he could help easily since it was only a short walk away.

Now, back to the reason... the _other reason_ on why his life was screwed up...

James was currently bandaging a body, an unconscious and beaten body that belonged to one Brock Rumlow. One of the men that happened to be his handler while he’d been apart of HYDRA. The man only took control when Pierce was too busy for him and he eventually made the man his permanent handler. That was nearly six years ago.

He knew more than anyone that this was one hell of a huge risk, something that could end with him back in HYDRAs' hands, but... against his better judgement... he felt like he should at least keep him alive. Yeah, he was HYDRA, he treated him badly and used him as an example to other agents when he wanted to show-and-tell. He hurt him, physically and mentally, but...

It wasn't the worst.

Yeah, he was a massive douchebag, but they were all scum that needed to die, and this guy had never felt guilty for what he did. But... he could very faintly remember the waveringly hidden remorse when he was the one that had to take control of the Winter Soldier and put him back into the Freezer and had to take him to the mind-wiping chair. He could always somehow see the way he'd tense and the corner of his nose twitch in distaste and his brows knitted down in the center. All signs of remorse and distaste and regret and hate. So he at least felt bad… maybe? The others’ never showed anything like that.

So every time the man had told him or anyone else, in public, that he absolutely loved beating on him, it was clearly bullshit. And some of his actions even solidified the assumption when they were out of sight or prying eyes. When no one was there and watching, he turned gentler, by a fraction. His grip and touch would soften and he'd say his given nickname.

Winter... obviously he wasn't a very creative man, but how many nicknames could you come up with when all you had to work with was Asset, Winter Soldier, and Weapon? Rumlow clearly didn't like the names and he didn't know anything about him apart from them, so Winter was really the only thing that sounded somewhat normal. And as his handler, he knew his real name, but he couldn't very well use them in-case it brought back everything and that would make him a fault in HYDRAs’ plans, a loose end and liability... so, Winter.

James snapped his gaze up to the mans' face when he gave a low hiss, having felt the burn of the alcoholic disinfectant pour over a particularly nasty gash bruised into his abdomen. He was still unconscious. His body just reacted automatically.

The soldier reached for a portion of the wad of tissues he brought from the bathroom, folding a few over each other before gently dabbing at the skin and easing the matted and drying blood from him.  It really didn't look too nice, but at least he wasn't dying or had internal bleeding. This just seemed like an everyday beatdown from thugs. Though they had to be pretty damn good ones to take down Brock Rumlow of all people. Maybe other Agents teamed up against him? Former SHIELD agents that had a revenge-complex? He was betting it was more of a HYDRA attack. Men that blamed him since he was really the only survivor of DC. James had hidden straight after and was only recently declared alive, but he knew that no one from the organisation would ever attempt to pick a fight with him.

He folded the paper over again, using the less blood covered side of the blood gradually leaking from the skin wound. The disinfectant was forcing any particles and infection out, so he wasn't surprised to see dirt, grit and a faint puss oozing out and been picked up by the tissue. He had to toss it into the trash and grab another wad, folding it and continuing with his little self-given mission.

James would send this man on his way if he appeared to have any ill-motives against him. He'd put him in the Captains’ hands and let him decide what to do. Because he wasn't going to hurt him, or kill him. Rumlow was somewhat kind to him and he was repaying the favour as of right now. If he didn't have anything against him wasn't going to sell him back to HYDRA, then he'd take care of him until he was fully healed or until he wanted to leave on his own accord. As long as the man would live, he was happy, and happy with himself.

The soldier sighed and folded the tissue over again, noticing less blood coming from him. It was slowing to a manageable point where he could maybe gauze and plaster the wound. He wouldn't be able to stitch it, but he could do his best in covering it. He wasn't too fond of his thoughts of the reaction the agent would have after waking up to see him there. It was obvious that it wouldn't be a pleased one. Who would be overjoyed in this situation with their circumstances? People that needed straight-jackets, he assumed.

James knew that he would probably react badly if Rumlow did. If he woke up and was pissed, maybe ungrateful then he was sure that he'd act-out as well. It was a type of domino effect. A reaction to a reaction.

He shook his head lightly, also not being fond of _that_ thought. He'd rather them at least tolerate each other until the man could leave...

On a random note, Rumlow wasn't too badly burned or injured from DC. He had a few noticeable burns, but his face was barely harmed apart from his recent attack. He had multiple scars, excluding the ones from missions and he had a burn rising up his neck and stopping just under his ear. He had more over his shoulder and down his back, his chest had a few as well, and his waist and legs, but they seemed well taken care of, which brought a faint contentment to him. He was looking after himself... well... his current state said otherwise, but he'd taken care of himself until recently.

James tossed another used tissue to the trash before turning back to the limp body, watching the stuttered inhale and exhale of his chest rising and falling. His breathing pattern was strained and weak from battery. It would take some time before that would heal.

He was at least pleased to see that that was the last wound he had to clean. All he had left to do was bandage the injuries and cover him with a blanket. He wasn't too bothered that he'd stripped him down to his underwear. James would have to wash his blood-stained clothes and if needed, trash them from not being able to clean the blood out. He'd either have to lend his clothing or the soldier would have to go out and buy some for him to go home in... Or he could drop him off to his current address in the car Stark gave him. Though he'd rather not use the new Camaro, it was more of an exhibition piece than anything to him. And it was currently sitting in the garage of Stark-Tower, so driving him was actually off of that list as of now.

James reached to the side of Rumlows' body, picking up the gauze and bandages. He'd disinfected every visible wound and got as much of the blood off as possible, now was the covering. Which he knew wouldn't be that fun. Especially if the man woke up.

He carefully edged backwards on the bed, shifting further and further down until he was at the mans' legs. The worse wounds started at his thighs, but there were a few scrapes on his shines, not too bad, but it was better safe than sorry. So he dabbed a small portion of Antiseptic-cream over the gashes and cuts and just put simple square plasters over them, so the cream wouldn’t rub off on the blanket. He reached further up, covering more scars and injuries on his thighs before capping the tube and dropping it into his lap, moving to reach for the gauze. He lightly covered the scarring and carefully wrapped the fabric around it, easily lifting the mans' leg to wind it around again and again.

James did this to both legs and his strong, sturdy and well built waist and chest, going higher and higher up the practically comatose body. Rumlows’ breathing stuttered regularly through it, even more so, though that was probably due to him being able to feel what was going on, but not being able to place it or do anything about it. Like his mind was stirring, but his body wasn't.  

The soldier finished up his arms, dropping back onto the bed lightly to look over his work. It pleased him. He did a pretty good job and was faintly proud of himself. He even let a little curve perk up on the corner of his lips. And with that done, he stood up, taking another quick glance before turning away and heading towards the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom and livingroom. He grabbed the glass he'd put there previously and filled it with cold water. James put it on the counter and reached into the medicine cabinet, picking up two pills from the painkiller strip. He also grabbed an Aspirin if it was needed. He picked up the glass again and headed out of the bathroom, keeping his senses sharp as he returned to the bedside and put the glass and pills down on the side table. James then turned to gaze at Rumlow again, seeing the unconscious pained expression carved into his features. He didn't like the look, it made him seem vulnerable, and _vulnerable_ didn't suit the man at all. He remembered him as strong, smart, volatile, dangerous... and caring, to a point.

James let a sigh leave his lips as he lingered, eyeing the man and feeling all too drawn out, like he used to stare when he was the Asset. He used to do this all too often and he wasn't a fan of the action. So he turned and decided to leave the room.

He walked over to the closed door and braced himself, crouching with his hand on the door handle. And as soon as he'd opened it, he caught the bright ginger ball of fur that attempted to dash passed him and into the room. He had the kitten in his metal hand, holding tightly, but not too tight that it would harm the small cat. He just had a firm enough grip that the feline wouldn't escape him and annoy the unconscious body. He didn’t even know if Rumlow was allergic to cats…

James stepped out of the bedroom, cat in hand and closed the door, hearing the audible 'click' before stepping away and making his way to the kitchen. He was sure it was passed 'Dugan's feed time. And looking up at the clock only confirmed his assumption. It was almost Six in the afternoon, while Dugan's feed was usually at five. They tended to have food at the time time, so James hadn't had his either.

"Hang on, Dum-Dum," he requested, using his old army-buddies nickname on the cat. He crouched and reached into the cupboard for the kitty-bags, the daily gravy-meal for growing kittens. He grabbed one and got up, closing the door and going to grab the empty food bowl. The cat was instantly around his ankles, rubbing up against him and circling his legs. He swore that the kitten wanted to trip him up, which he'd nearly done successfully a couple of times. If it weren't for James' fast reflexes, he'd be getting a load of new furniture by now. He'd nearly busted his coffee-table twice already because of the animal.

After filling the bowl with food he carefully put it down in the corner, out of the way of anyone walking by or being there for someone to trip over. James watched for a moment until Dugan started eating before he turned around to face the fridge, opening it and reaching in to grab two beers and then closing it again before heading out of the corner kitchen and over to the sofa, where he had his bed-pants and bed-shirt out, ready for him to change into. He grabbed them right after putting Rumlow in his bedroom, already having decided that he'd take the couch while he was there. He had the extra blanket there and he'd just use the sofa pillows as-... well, pillows...

He put one beer on the table and dropped back into the cushions, propping his boot up on the coffee table and propping the other over it, crossing his ankles. He glanced down at the cold bottle in hand and reached for the cap with his left, easily pulling the metal off. There were a few bright-sides to having the metal arm, one being the lack of need for a bottle opener.

James tossed the cap to the table, moving to take a good, long swig from the bottle. He eased at the burn lining his throat, reluctantly pulling it from his lips to glance over at the bedroom door. He was a lot more guarded again, like when he first moved in and thought that he was being watched for the first year of being there. He chalked it down to paranoia from 70 years of being a walking puppet for HYDRA and being watched 24/7 for all those years. Steve assured him that they did everything to make sure that he wouldn’t be found and that he wouldn’t be taken back.

After that, he started to calm down, very slowly, but it was a start for him and he had tried his best to ease into this. After the first few years, he was fine-ish. He had a routine, a schedule to go by and it worked for him. He kept in shape, even when he didn’t really need to because of the superserum. He managed to get a companion, a cat who he named after a very old friend out of Nostalgia and sentimentality. And he was finally comfortable with himself and what he was doing.

He didn’t have a job, but Stark said he’d pay for him. Obviously he was offered a better and bigger house, Stark persistent nagging that he should be paying for a grander place than some rundown apartment building. But James shot that down on the premise that he felt safer in a smaller accommodation that fitted him. He grew up in a small home with two rooms shared between siblings and parents. A one bedroom apartment was perfect for him, and there was a lot more there for one person than there was when he was in Brooklyn with his sickly thin and stupidly brave best friend.

James knew that this was the biggest risk he was taking, bringing home a former HYDRA agent that could easily pawn him off to what was left of the organisation, but he assumed it was from _more_ sentimentality that he wanted to help him, save him. He didn’t want to think that maybe he could reform him if he was still hell bent on ‘hailing HYDRA’, but if he was and he couldn’t help him… then he would tell Steve who he’d been hiding in his bedroom.

And it was an even stupider risk that he wasn’t going to tell the supersoldier yet…

Maybe he could try and get through to him while he was bedridden. Rumlow wouldn’t be able to fight back or call anyone while he was stuck there with James caring for him. When he’s able to start walking he’ll get an answer, either ‘I won’t call you in’ or ‘jail HYDRA’, to which he’ll quickly ship him off to SHIELD. Steve definitely wouldn’t be happy with the knowledge that he’d had him there for some time.

He took in a quick breath when Dugan jumped up onto his lap, landing gracefully while licking his lips and gradually crawling his way up his legs until he was sitting firmly up against his abdomen and pelvis. James reached his metal hand down and petted the soft fur, not feeling it from the lack of nerves. HYDRA never thought to install them. They needed a weapon, not a touch-tester.

He sighed and slouched further back into the sofa, taking another long sip of his beer. This was going to be a long ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya'll enjoy this story :) I've been meaning to get this out for some time :) Let me know what you think, if you have a suggestion, I'll consider it and see what I can do :)


	2. Chapter 2

His eye snapped awake at the sound of glass breaking, his entire body jerking to attention and the cat was suddenly on the other end of the couch, staring at him wide eyed and alert. James was slightly panting, he was guarded and he felt the tension and his mind revert for a moment, his old Winter Soldier instincts kicking in as he gradually lifted himself from the sofa and quickly surveyed his surroundings, staring and glancing over everything until his gaze landed on the bedroom door. If the sound came from in there, then that meant that either Rumlow was awake or someone else was there.

James shifted silently over to the tv, his eyes still watching the door as he reached behind it and grabbed the hidden, fully-loaded pistol that was lightly taped to the back, for surprise-attack purposes. Steve didn’t bat an eyelid at him when he watched him hide weapons around the room, he understood the mentally unstable soldier and why he’d done it. The captain even admitted to doing the same at the beginning, though it wasn’t to James’ paranoid extent.

He held the gun tightly with his flesh hand, his metal hanging there and ready incase the gun was dislodged from his grip. He quietly inched towards the door, his hand reaching out slowly before easing his hold around the handle and then turned it, keeping his guard high as he gently shoved it open and peeked inside. He could hear faint groaning, wheezes following harsh pants of breath, and he only saw Rumlow. The room was dark, but not dark enough that he wouldn’t see or sense anyone else in the room. It was only the former HYDRA agent.

He glanced to the ground next to the bed, seeing the shattered glass and water seeping through the carpet. The man must’ve reached for it and shoved it from the side table.

James lowered the gun completely and tucked it into the back of his trousers, subconsciously realising that he fell asleep after drinking his beers and was still wearing the clothes from yesterday. He opened the door further before stepping in and closing it. He’d have to paddy Dugan after this, having seemed to shock him awake more than the glass did for James.

He stepped further into the still dark room, glancing over at his digital clock to see that it was nearly 5 in the morning. It made him sigh under his breath and he turned back to the wheezing, pained body. He looked him over from where he was inching forward, eyeing him cautiously before easing himself to sit on the edge of the bed at the mans side. He’d heard the glass crunching under his boots, but he wanted to make sure that the former agent was okay before he’d clean it up.

James reached out his metal hand and held it about an inch or two away from his mouth and nose, ducking his head a little to see the fast pants of air fogging up the shine of his limb. It was harsh and he seemed like he was in a mass amount of pain. The painkillers were still on the bedside table, so maybe he’d been reaching for them and knocked the glass over? Or he’d just been thirsty?

He could tell he was awake, but just not aware. He wasn’t conscious of his surroundings.

“Rumlow,” he called as lightly as he could, returning his metal hand to his side as he watched the man twitch and groan deeply from his chest. He was somewhat responsive, which was a good thing. But he needed an actual response, words preferably.

James let out a light breath before pushing himself to stand and then crouching to the ground to pick up the glass. He grabbed the bottom half of the cup, that end being intact with a little portion of water still lingering inside. He gradually began picking up the tiny shards that had broken off, being quick and efficient with the task. The tiniest parts were slightly harder to find, so he’d reached up to the side table and switched on the lamp, lighting up that side of the room. It wasn’t too bright, not bright enough to blind, so he’d hoped that Rumlow wouldn’t mind the dim glow.

James had managed to find the pieces, hopefully all of them, though he’d check again when there was more light in the room after the sun rose. He stood up and looked down, keeping his eyes peeled in a second glance at the carpet before he turned around and headed over to the bathroom. He had a plastic cup in the cupboard under the sink. It was virtually unbreakable.

He placed the broken glass on the counter and opened the cupboard door, reaching in to grab at the bright green plastic. Once he had a hold, he leaned back up and rinsed it out under the cold water, holding it in different directions for the water to drench it. He then quickly wiped it off and filled it with cool water before turning around and walking back into the dim room. He noticed that Rumlow seemed to be breathing easier, a fraction softer than before. He wasn’t wheezing as much.

James stepped around the bed and slowly put the cup down next to the pills.

“...St..atus report..” the man suddenly rasped out, his voice sounding worse than the sandpaper like gruffness it used to hold. And it took a lot not to actually answer that as the Winter Soldier, with his flat, deep and dangerous tone. He swallowed and glanced at the man, seeing the slits of where his eyes were open. He was gradually, very slowly, becoming aware if he’d managed to peg James in the dark.

“Ans..wer Soldier,” his voice got deeper, sounding a little more edged and darker. It reminded him too much of Rumlow when he was the STRIKE teams’ commander. He had to distract himself to not answer like he was the soldier again.

James sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket down to the mans’ lower waist, eyeing the bandaged wounds over. There was a smudge of blood seeping through on his side, closer to his ribs. He reached out, being as gentle as ever as he ran two fingers over the edge of the large plasters and gradually made his way over the centre, where the drying blood gathered.

“Winter,” he paused and glanced up at the man, seeing the cautious eyes staring at him. James stopped and pulled his hand back, resting his forearm on his thigh.

“I’m not HYDRAs’ puppet anymore,” he mutter lowly and quietly, watching as Rumlow seemed to swallow, a flash of nervousness and a smidge of fear blinking in his eyes for a moment. He probably thought that James would hurt him, a chance for payback even. But that wasn’t him.

He went back to looking over the wounds, seeing a few places that were still slightly bleeding under gauze and plasters. He’d have to change these later on, maybe after he made breakfast for them and fed Dugan his own brand of breakfast. He vaguely remembered having a morning meal with the STRIKE team after a mission, the extraction being the next day. It had been more than a little awkward and he’d had a few odd glances, but as the meal went, it was a usually cooked breakfast. Egg, bacon, sausage, beans, some toast.

Though he was sure Rumlow wouldn’t be able to eat all that in his current condition, so he’d ease up on it some. Egg, bacon, beans maybe? It was simple and easy to chew, swallow and digest in his situation.

“...Where am I,” he spoke roughly, and it sound as much as a question as it did an order to answer, and James had frowned up at him for it, his brow knitting dangerously in the centre and pointing down. His eyes darkened and it would’ve been considered a glare, to which the former agent shrank back from.

“My apartment,” he answered tightly, his teeth almost clenching at the fact that he’d answered him either way. He wouldn’t revert back to the Winter Soldier, he was positive that he had enough control over himself at this point. He knew for a fact that Rumlow didn’t know the Russian Trigger words used to change him, to make him comply, so he was somewhat safe. The agent had been terrible when it came to language barriers. It had usually been Jack, another agent, but he didn’t understand the Trigger words, so he didn’t say them to him. Never really needed to when he was Triggered during the mind-wiping procedure.

“Where’s Rogers?” it _was_ a question now, and it seemed that the man would assume that he was back with the captain after 70 years. He wasn’t wrong, even if James had been reluctant about it. His glare must’ve changed the mans’ attitude a tad, which he was glad about. But this question… he didn’t know how to answer. He couldn’t tell him that Steve doesn’t about this, it would seem like an opening to pawn him off to HYDRA if he said anything like that. But he couldn’t very well say that Steve knew and wasn’t here. It would easily be pegged as a lie and that would still be an opening for the organisation.

However.... He could say-

“I convinced Steve to let me take care of you,” he lied, easily covering it up by messing with one of the bloodied plasters on his abdomen, his fingers skimming the pad slightly, putting enough pressure to bring out a small gasp from the former agent. Distracting while lying was one of the ways to not be caught out. He’d learnt that from Barton and Romanov. He wasn’t too sure if Rumlow knew that, but he wasn’t in any condition to actually recall something like that, he hoped.

“Why?” he questioned with faint authority and a deep pant, squirming slightly under his touch. Seeing the man like this actually took the commanding edge from him, so the mildly authoritative tone was demeaned completely.

“Would you rather I call him and tell him you’d rather be in a SHIELD med-room instead?” he paused and turned to flatly stare at the man, his hand reaching into his pocket to pull out an advanced cellphone that Stark gave him. He instantly caught the increased inhales and exhales from a mild panic that shot through Rumlow.

“No-no...-no! It’s fine,” he tried rushing out with a wince to finish the short sentence. James watched him for a moment before re-pocketing his phone and looking back over the wounds as a distraction for himself. This was a stupid idea, he knew, but now that it was all said, he had to take care of him. There wasn’t any take-backs as of now. “But… you still didn’t answer my question,” the man pointed out edgily and weakly, seeming careful and way more cautious now. And he was sure it was because James had his own mind back and could decide for himself. It was as if he thought that the soldier wanted to hurt him, get some payback.

“I have my reasons,” he answered flatly before pushing himself up from the bed and turning to stare down at him, arms now crossed while standing defensively. A show of defense wasn’t actually a good action, because it meant that the other was right or that he was hiding something. The latter currently fitted the motion.

“Still think of me as a handler or somethin’? You sentimental?” he hated how the man knew him, even though he’d only really met the Winter Soldier and not James Bucky Barnes. It was one of the reasons and he hated how he managed to get one right on the first try. He was sentimental, but he didn’t think of him as...

… He brought him back because it was instinctive and that was something the Soldier would’ve done. He didn’t want orders or anything, but he felt obliged to help him, by bringing him home and patching him up. And he didn’t tell Steve, he was lying to protect the man that was once his handler… That seemed very obedient and objective-ish to him.

Maybe he _did_ still think of him as his… handler...

“You do, don’t you…” James snapped his eyes back to Rumlows’ face, only his eyes, nothing else moving as he stared a burning hole through the slowly expanding and pained smirk. He hated the knowing tone, the smugness that he was sure to hear soon. He was really considering calling Steve now, just the thought was making him feel vulnerable and dependent. Calling the captain because he couldn’t handle the fact that Rumlow knew he still saw him as his handler.

But how didn’t he see it before? When he brought him in? Why didn’t he think of what he was doing, as an obedient Soldier action? And not calling the Avenger Captain should have been a pretty big tell for him. He was told that he could trust him, and yet, here was Rumlow, his old handler, lying in his bed, all bandaged up and practically laughing at him because he still followed him, _in a way_ , after so many years.

“You still think of me as your handler…” he swallowed and winced a little. “When you’re as free as a fuckin’ bird,” James wanted to suddenly hit him, to wipe that smug smile from his lips, to stop him from letting out that sickeningly hearty chuckle.

This was the worst idea he’d ever had, bringing the man home with him. He was so tempted to either call Steve or just throw him back out into the streets for ‘ _what was left of_ ’ HYDRA to take care of.

Instead, he reached out to the lamp and knocked the light off, and then turning away to leave the room. He grabbed the door handle and turned it, opening it up for him to step through. Dugan wasn’t there, so he assumed that he was still on the couch. He closed the door behind him, ignoring the eyes watching him through the dark and pulled it closed, hearing the click before heading over to the sofa again. His assumption was confirmed about the cat when he saw him curled up in the blanket in the corner of the bed.

He sighed and stepped over to the other end, grabbing the bed clothes he’d put there after putting that damn former agent in his bed. James dropped them in front of him and reached for the long sleeved shirt that was currently being worn, gripping the hem before pulling it up and over his head, dropping it to the floor just off from the coffee table. He turned and sat down, quickly unlacing and taking off his boots and socks, tossing them to wear his shirt was and shoving the front of the boots under the table. He stood again and undid his belt, turning back around while unbuttoning his button fly. He shoved the trousers down and off and was left wearing only his boxers.

James glanced down at himself for a moment, his hand hesitantly reaching up to his chest where the metal met rough, butchered skin. He could feel the unnatural texture under the pads of his fingers, lumped up and teared, flared and burned to fit the solid fitting of the edge of the metal shoulder.

He sighed quietly and dropped his hand, reaching out for the wooly, faded purple and off-white plaid style bed-pants before stepping into them, letting the loose fabric hang low over his hips. The shirt was next, a baggy dark purple with an arrow running up the length of the left side. The feathery end at the bottom and the tip of the arrow reaching the left pectoral. Obviously Barton bought these for him when he first got himself the apartment, a house gift. And he seemed to know what he was buying since James rarely wore any of the others he’d bought for himself. These fitted perfectly and were soft and to his liking. He was more than grateful to the archer for these. He’d have to ask where he got them.

James sighed, feeling a little more relaxed now. His shoulders loosened slightly, the rest of his tensed muscles gradually following the action. He turned around and softly dropped back onto the couch, his hand reaching out to the side for the sofa table, catching a hair band in his grip before he started messing with his hair.

It took a long moment, but eventually his long hair was up in a mildly messy bun at the base of his skull. He’d started doing it almost every night when he was at the Avengers Facility, before everyone gathered in the lounge room for a movie night or a party that Stark deviced for every yearly event. Birthdays, christmas, valentine's day, easter, halloween, even events that they didn’t celebrate. Any excuse for a party and the man was there.

Speaking of, he’d have to cancel for the upcoming one if he had to look after Rumlow in that time. He was pretty sure that this was just a gathering together party and not someone's birthday. He’d memorized pretty much everyone's after each birthday. It actually made him wonder when Rumlows’ was, but he instantly shot that thought down. It wasn’t like he’d bake him a damn cake or get him a present.

James dropped his head back on the back of the sofa, his breathing having turned rough and his body was tensed up again. Just thinking of the man and his recent discoveries was making him anxious. He doubted he’d be getting any rest now, though it wouldn’t hurt to try. He’d convinced himself that regular rest was a necessity after years of Cryo-freeze. It wasn’t really that he needed to convince himself, _it was needed_. He’d just been afraid to sleep after all of that when he got. His memories. They’d return as nightmares and he’d never be able to sleep after.

He’d laugh at the thought that maybe Rumlow being here was one of the milder nightmares...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riveting conversation xD 
> 
> Sorry, I had to make Brock a bit of a douche at the start because I needed to make it so they'd warm up to each other. So Dick-Rumlow is necessary. 
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	3. Chapter 3

Turned out, he was able to sleep the rest of that night, or morning, if anyone wanted to be specific. It was mildly surprising that he was able to, considering the unwelcomed feelings Rumlow brought back to him. He hated the thought that he had that much of a bad effect on him.

James was currently in the middle of putting Dugans’ breakfast down, his metal hand instantly retreating when the cat practically threw his face into the food. It made him scoff slightly as he reached out with his flesh hand, stroking the soft fur before pulling back and moving around the kitchen to the ingredients he’d previously set out and started cooking. Against his better judgement, he would still try to take care of Rumlow, feed him, re-bandage him, and if need be, wash him. He wasn’t to fond of looking after him when he’d woken up in the night. His preceding thoughts that maybe he could help him diminished in a span of a few minutes after he’d opened his mouth, but he had to stick to his guns. He didn’t like that he felt like he had something to prove to the man, but he was going to show him anyway, that he didn’t need him and could be as independent as ever.

He’d moved out and got himself a good apartment, a cat, could cook, to a point, he did his own laundry. Though… Stark was paying for apartment… and most of his groceries. He sometimes even went over to the tower from Steve’s invitation and ate there… James was still dependent… _Fuck_...

The soldier practically glared at the burning food in the pan in front of him, scowling like it insulted him or threatened him. He swallowed and took a breath, trying to calm himself. He wouldn’t lash out just because he’d realized how much help he was actually getting. He wasn’t going to prove Rumlow right.

He huffed and tried to relax, using the spatula to turn the bacon over and looking over to the other pan to see that the eggs were done, a darker shade under the cooked white yoke. James used the same utensil and scraped it under the egg, picking up before dropping it onto the plate. He didn’t use that much oil so it wasn’t as greasy that you’d see it dripping from the edges. He did the same with the other two eggs, putting one alone on another plate himself. He turned back to the bacon and flipped them over again before going to stir the half-a-tin of beans. James didn’t want any so he put the other half in the fridge, a cap-cover on the open lid.

He reached out and turned the burners off, waiting a moment before scooping up the bacon and sharing four out between the plates, two on both. The beans were next, pouring the stuff between the meat and eggs. James looked over the plates and reached out for one, picking up a fork and placing it on the flat sphere. He stepped around the kitchen and headed for the bedroom door, a disgruntled look on his face. He schooled his features and grabbed the handle, turning it before shoving it open and stepping into the dimly lit room.

“There’s my… nurse,” he heard the voice strain, like he’d tried moving or something, but there was amusement there, like he was about to mock him like back when they worked in HYDRA. If he did, James would have another wound to look over, it was just deciding where he’d put the bruise.

He stopped near the bottom of the bed, a few feet away and reached behind him to switch the light on, the one that lit the entire room. He looked back to see the raised brow and faint smirk on his lips as Rumlow eyed him over, scrutinizing him. James was feeling the urge to just put the food down for him and then leaving to get his own plate. This cold shudder was very slowly making its way through his nerves.

“You look....” the man paused, trailing off like he was trying to find the right word for his appearance. James had a few words going through his head, none of them exactly nice, which tore his confidence down a little.

“Normal?” he said instead, rounding the bed until he was at the side and looking down at the still scrutinizing stare. He huffed and sat down, turning so he was somewhat facing the old agent. He was still looking him up and down, seeming to bite the inside of his lip.

“Not with that arm,” he muttered quietly before tilting his head a little on the pillow. “I was gonna say… domestic,” … domestic, like a housewife? Or just a guy that lives happily on his own? Or wa he thinking a tamed animal? Probably the latter knowing this guy and he didn’t like that people would picture him like that. It made him feel like some wild animal. He was sure that _that_ was how he was seen when he was the Winter Soldier. He remembered a few things and being compared to wild creatures was one.

“Better than looking like the Soldier again,” he commented quietly before putting the plate on the large side table and turning back to the other man, who stared back quizzically. He reached out, minding the wounds and burns, which were probably still tender, and he tried to shift him up the bed, Rumlow attempting to help while groaning and wincing until they’d managed it and he was leaning back against the headboard, panting and breathing with a faint wheeze. James looked him over for a minute and then reached out for his plate, being careful as he places it in his lap and saw the skeptical look he gave him.

“Not poisoned is it?” he asked almost too flatly, like he was actually seriously asking if James would poison him. The soldier just almost shook his head in exhaustion before eyeing him.

“Why would I patch you up and then kill you…” he countered rhetorically before standing up and turning away. “Don’t have to eat it if you want to,” he muttered before grabbing the door handle and turning it. He cursed under his breath after opening it and see the orange ball of fur sprint passed and sink under the bed frame, scuttling about under there.

“The fuck you have a cat for?” came Rumlows’ amused response, having seen the feline rush passed and hide. James huffed and stepped back over, crouching down and getting onto his hands and knees to look under the bed. He ducked his head low, seeing Dugan on his back with all the claws on four limbs sticking up into the fabric on the underside of the mattress. Scooting around like that. It was a thing kitten did, he assumed.

“Sonofa-,” he huffed and got back up, straightening out his pjays before glancing at Rumlow. “Steve gave him to me as a ‘ _therapeutic_ ’ thing,” he said, resisting to roll his eyes or give the quote-unquote gesture.

“Is it helping?” the man asked, his tone sounding like he already had an answer from James’ curse and irked features.

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly and crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. “It’s nice having him around, I guess. He usually sleeps in here with me,” it was the reason the cat kept trying to get into the bedroom. It was as much of his sleeping place as it was James’, but with Rumlow there… “I’d rather not leave him in here with you, though,” the soldier stepped back and leaned against the door frame, watching as the other man tried to eat, finding it hard. He could see the strain in his arm from trying to lift it, but he wouldn’t help with this basic thing. He knew Rumlow would rather do it on his own, stubborn jackass.

“I don’t kill house cats, Winter,” he actually sounded a little offended while speaking around a slice of egg. James hadn’t actually meant it that way though. He didn’t mean for it to sound like he thought Brock would try to kill his cat. He also ignored and gave no reaction to the nickname.

“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, seeing the pause and brow raise he was given. “Dugan’s going to climb all over you,” James knew this from about a year of experience. “He could open up one of your wounds and patching you up was a pain in the ass the first time,” he spoke with a deep gravelly tone.

“Really,” his own tone was complete disbelief, like he doubted his statement entirely. James could just leave him there, let Dugan have his way and come back later to see him covered in his own blood again after he re-opened wounds. At least then he’d finally get why the soldier didn’t want the cat in there with him.

He didn’t get to think of getting the cat out of the room because his phone started ringing, ‘Star Spangled Man’ playing in the background. It brought a smirk to his face every time it played. Steve Rogers, Captain America, the star spangled man with a plan. The of the best things the 1940s’ came out with.

“I take it that’s Cap?” James looked up to see the slightly shaking shoulders, the man seeming to get who that ringtone belonged to.

“Yeah, be right back,” he stated before turning around and leaving the room, heading over to the coffee table near the couch where he tossed his trousers during the night. He reached into the pocket and grabbed the advanced piece of metal before quickly walking over to the balcony door, opening it as he answered.

“Morning,” he greeted flatly as he closed the glass door behind him, trying to sound as bored or as inanimated as he usually did almost everyday. He couldn’t let on that he had a guest and he couldn’t tell Steve about Rumlow, not yet.

“ _Morning, Buck. How ya feeling?_ ” the super soldier greeted cheerfully. He really couldn’t get over how happy he was in the mornings. Even in the Avengers Facility, he’d wake up with a beaming smile and walk into the lounge where everyone else looked like hell warmed over. James, Vision and Romanov were usually the only ones that tended to look the least bit normal after waking up.

“I’m good, I guess. You?” the most riveting morning conversations of all time, and he got this about twice to three times a week.

“ _Pretty good. So, me and Sam are about to go for a run. You interested? We could swing by-,_ ”

“No, no. I’m… busy. I’m cleaning my apartment today,” he lied, biting the inside of his lip and frowning a little, hoping Steve didn’t catch it.

“ _Really? Me and Sam could come over and help with that if yo_ -,” he swore he heard a ‘nu-uh’ in the background, meaning Falcon that was there with him.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to drag you from your routine. And besides, it’s only a little cleaning,” he scratched at the bottom of his nose for a second and leaned against the railings.

“ _I can cancel, Buck_ ,” he didn’t like the faint sound of Steves’ honesty and how much he seemed to feel just from wanting to help James out with whatever he could. He didn’t want the other soldier to drop everything just for him. He was a damn great friend, but he needed to live his damn life and not forget everything when James called or asked him for something.

“Steve, it’s fine. We’ll hang out again, maybe the next time my place needs cleaning, yeah?” he could hear his old Brooklyn twang in his accent through that sentence. “And you know I’ve had enough running around to last a damn lifetime, and I mean that in a literal sense,” he joked, a smile slipping over his lips.

“ _Don’t I know it_ ,” he heard him laugh slightly, something between tension, mild sadness and something good, probably a good feeling from James actually making a joke about all the running around he’d done as the Winter Soldier and DC and during the time Stark was after him. Steve needed to stop dwelling, even _he’d_ left it in the past, most of it anyway.

“ _Fuck!_ ” James snapped his head around and stared through the glass. He was pretty that Rumlow just understood why the soldier didn’t want the cat staying in the room with him at any point.

“ _Bucky?_ ” he was brought back for a moment and he stuttered, ‘uh’ing for a second before purposefully huffing.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m out on the balcony and Dugans’ making some noise. I haven’t had the chance to feed him yet,” he lied, stepping back from the railing and inching closer to the door, leaning against the frame to stare in while he was still talking. Speaking of Dugan, he shot out from the room and launched himself at the sofa, jumping up onto the back with his eyes solely fixed on the open door that led into his bedroom.

“ _I’ll leave you to that then, text you later?_ ” Steve spoke with a bit of hopefulness wrapped in his words. He let out a scoff and continued to stare into the apartment.

“Sure, talk to you later, Steve. Say hi to Samantha for me,” he smirked and pushed away from the frame, his metal limb reaching out for the handle and resting there.

“ _I heard that!_ ” Sam yelled over the phone and he couldn’t but laugh at that. He enjoyed joking with him, it sometimes went too far, especially with pranks, though that was back in the Facility and he normally had Clint helping him out. His Prank-Partner.

“ _See ya, Buck_ ,”

“See ya,” without a beat, he pulled the phone from his ear and hung up, his metal hand turning the handle and opening it for him to walk in. He stepped through and closed it behind him, locking it before heading around the room and towards the sofa. He dropped the phone to the seat and ran his flesh hand through soft fur. It was slightly flared up, so he assumed that Rumlow may have scared him when he yelled a moment ago.

He patted Dugan for a few seconds, silently cooing him before scratching behind his head and gradually dropping his hand as he made his way further into the room and through the bedroom door. James shoved the door closed behind him and turned to see the former agent, his hand over his right pectoral where one of the bigger bandages was and there was some blood seeping through and leaking between his fingers and down his chest.

“Told you,” he muttered, inwardly smirking at the look he was shot and turned to head towards the bathroom to get the aid kit, grabbing more gauze, tissue and bandages on the way, and a small thin towel for the guys hand. He also grabbed cup, one of his wider ones, like the ones you get from Sports direct, but instead of the sports stores logo, there was a huge ‘A’ on it, the Avengers logo. Tony gave it to him.

He filled it with water and stepped out of the bathroom, keeping a steady pace and balance as he rounded the bed and dropped most of it on the sheets next to Rumlows thighs. He carefully put the big cup down on the side table, closer to him than the empty plate.

“Let me look,” he requested softly, his flesh hand reaching out for the hand that was still over the bared wound. Brock seemed reluctant, but he eventually grew a pair and let his hand leave the skin, his palm covered in dark, drying blood. James reached over the mans’ legs and grabbed the towel, switching it to his flesh hand to dunk it in the cup of water before squeezing it and holding it out to Rumlow.

“Clean your hand,” as soon as he said it, the cloth was taken from him and was being used to clean up the blood from his palm. While he was doing that, James took the time to reach up with the metal hand and grab the open half of the big plaster that the cat must’ve tried to climb up. He carefully started peeling at it, seeing the tension solidify through Brocks’ chest and abdominal muscles. Glancing up, he could see the discomfort in the curled lips and knitted and downcasted brow.

He didn’t bother trying to comfort the man with words, it would obviously be seen as patronizing and he’d verbally bark at him about it. So instead, he carefully and finally pulled the rest of the plaster off, tossing it to the carpet next to his feet. Just from looking at the wound, he could see that Dugan re-opened it, causing it to bleed again, but at least it wasn’t as bad as when he found him. It wasn’t leaking as much, but it was still bad.

James reached for the tissues, grabbing a few and folding them before going to wipe up the blood that was slowly running down his chest. His hand was grabbed though, by the clean hand. He watched as the wet cloth was rubbed over where the blood was, cleaning it as he drew it up his stomach and chest, to where the wound was. And that was where he stopped, seeming to not want to to even touch the injury.

The soldier easily got his flesh hand out of the loose, warm grip and started dabbing at the blood on the wound, taking away as much as he could before deciding to put anything over it.

It took a couple of minutes to clean up, using almost all of the tissues to just to get rid of the red. James reached over the mans’ legs and grabbed the gauze and big plaster, putting the latter on his lap before reaching up and touching around the injury, carefully putting a fair amount of soft, fluffy stuff over and a little around it. Most of it actually stayed because of the dryer blood and the tiny bit that was still leaking. He couldn’t actually stop that. He grabbed the plaster and pulled off the non-sticky part before lifting it and angling it right to gently place it over his handiwork.

“Didn’t figure that hand of yours could be anything but dangerous,” he glanced at Rumlow before looking back to the plaster, carefully checking the edge and gently smoothing the outer square edges down.

“I was ordered to be dangerous. And even though I can’t feel it, I can be really delicate,” he paused and frowned a little at his own words, sitting back to glance over at the other man. “It’s a type of feeling, I guess,” he slightly shrugged and pushed himself to stand, moving to pick up the trash he left from plastering Rumlow. He grabbed the rubbish, towel and cup and headed towards the bathroom again, dumping the stuff in the trash and pouring the reddened water into the sink. The towel was thrown into the hamper. A little red stained cloth wasn’t going to kill anyone. Steve would question him about it, but he would try to avoid letting him into his apartment for the next few days, maybe a few weeks.

He stepped back out and rounded the bed again, going to grab the plate and empty green cup before pausing to look at Rumlow.

“Do you need the bathroom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy? :) Favourite part so far is the blood cleaning and the talking :) Let me know what you think, I like the feedback and conversation :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop!! 4th chapter!! Sorry for the few days wait. My sister just got a notice to leave the house her, her fiance and her baby are in and are currently moving to a new place. I've been helping out and it's taking some time. Promise I'll get another chapter up real soon though :) The wait may be about the same time :)

And that was when his embarrassment got fucking worse.

Not only was Brock being regularly patched up by the Winter _fucking_ Soldier, being cared for like some delicate piece of shit flower, he had to help him move around too, to the toilet being no damn exception. The guy waited outside the room each time, just off from the opening of the door, around the corner. It was hard enough to stand on his own the first few times, but he tried, initially failing and having to have the soldier keeping him balanced from behind. Atleast he had the fucking decency not to look down or even seemed bothered by the fact that he was helping a practically naked guy, _bar for underwear_ , stand to piss. _Fucking humiliating_.

He was hurt, aching, his body was in pain, and he unintentionally cringed every damn time the blankets shifted over his plastered up body, either getting stuck on an uplifted corner or pulled at scabbing from a wound that was halfway healed. Eventually, he just tossed the blanket off and left it just covering the lower half of his legs. He was lying there with cool air circulating the room from the slightly open window, something the soldier surprisingly allowed.

Either Winter was losing his edge or he didn’t give a damn if Brock tried leaving through it. He would’a thought that he’d take a bit more care since Cap left him in the guys hands. Maybe he thought Rumlow wouldn’t leave. _He actually couldn’t yet, because he was bedridden_ , but that was besides the point.

Why would Rogers leave the Asse- _Barnes_! In-charge of him? Wouldn’t the big guy be worried that Brock might have a way to change him back? From James Barnes to the Winter Soldier? Obviously he didn’t, but from what he could see, he still had a little sway with Winter since he still thought of him as a handler. And even if he wasn’t as much as before, that still meant that there was a part of him that would listen if he gave him an order or something. He’d at least waver. He did before when he first woke up and asked for his status report, the second time too.

Maybe Winter thought he could handle him and wanted to prove it by looking after the guy that used to give him orders. He was trying to prove himself. Pretty plausible reason to want to persuade Cap into letting him take care of his old handler. Couldn’t really blame him. Brock would probably want to do the same in his position.

Rumlow blinked his eyes open and and lifted his head a little when he heard the door being opened. Winter stepped in, a plate in both hands as he stepped through, leaving the door open and he saw the fast little shit of a cat run in, launching under the bed at break-neck speed. He still didn’t get why it was there, or why he kept him… or why he named it Dugan. Who the fuck would name a cat that? Apart from this guy...

He was quiet while Rumlow watched him walk around the big bed, moving to sit carefully on the empty side with the plates before reaching out one to Brock. At the action, he moved, holding back his groans and pain as he shifted to push himself up. He kept inching back until he was leaning back against the headboard, sort of slumped against it while trying to hide the light panting. He took a longer breath and reached for the plate, carefully putting it down on his lap.

He’d noticed after the first few days that Winter started joining him for dinner in the bedroom, sticking to sitting on the empty side of the bed, near the edge with a leg hanging. He was pretty sure it was because of the cat. He didn’t trust the little shit after the first time he was left there, when Winter left for Caps’ call. And he was sure that the other guy noticed, so he started staying and taking the cat out of the room when he left.

“Takeout tomorrow, any requests?” he glanced up at the soldier, seeing the surprisingly curious, knowing look on his face. It reminded him of all the photos he was shown of James Buchanan Barnes, when he was one of the Sergeants back in the 1940s’. He actually felt the stare of an old man looking at him. Not old like white hair and wrinkles. This was intelligence, knowing, almost wise and passed the years of acting like an immature man. He looked… tired too. Maybe he was pushing himself. Stress?

Whatever, wasn’t his business.

Brock just shrugged his shoulders and poked his fork at what looked like a fair portion of Lasagna. He still wondered how the guy had enough time to learn how to cook. Wasn’t he a part of the Avengers now? A big shot hero? Winter had a shit-ton of calls from Rogers, a few from others too, and he was more than sure it was a few of the other Avengers. He’d heard the name ‘Barton’ pass around once or twice. So the soldier and Hawkeye were close. Black Widow too. Maybe the three formed some kiddy club. They suited each other. He’d heard about Barton’s brainwashing by that god, Loki. And after the massive data leak back in DC, he learned about Romanov’s Red-Room thing. That was basically brainwashing too, by being raised that way. And he didn’t even need to say anything about what happened to Winter.

“Haven’t had pizza for sometime,” since he’d been running around and laying low from what was left of HYDRA. He hadn’t told the soldier, he wouldn’t. He’d left the guy guessing since he woke up. Apparently, HYDRA couldn’t blame the Avengers, or Captain America, so they blamed _him_ , one of the only other survivors of DC’s battle. The soldier was MIA, presumed dead, since he was on the carrier when it dropped. They couldn’t get to Rogers without alerting the Avengers, so Rumlow was their only source of venting. And man, did they vent.

Brock relaxed further against the headboard, taking in an audible breath at the feel of his aching body. One of the gashes was itchy as all hell and the others were just hurting, almost feeling like they were burning on his skin, like the actual burns he had from DC. Falling while in that damn building gave him nightmares. Thankfully, they were rare and he hadn’t had one in front of Winter… yet. Only a matter of time.

“I’ll get a menu from the takeout place later,” Rumlow glanced over at the man, seeing the searching eyes look over him like he was silently asking if he was fine or something. And then went back to eating. Brock started eating again too, not admitting to himself that he was a pretty good cook, better than Rollins was. That partner of his was good, but not this good. But, like he said, he wasn’t going to admit it, definitely not to the soldier.

\----------

It wasn’t too long after they finished diner that the soldier came back into the bedroom, hands empty of everything and he just seemed to stand there in the threshold, switching between staring at him and biting at the inside of his lip like he was thinking about something, maybe considering something. Whatever it was, Winter seemed to be conflicted about it and he didn’t know if he wanted to let him in on it or not. Clearly, that meant that whatever it was, was something he wasn’t too sure about. This may have been something that needed some form of trust, Winter was thinking on trusting him with something, maybe.

And by the shake of his head and the frown, whatever it was, was denied and the soldier walked back out of the room and was starting to make some noise, like he was moving something. Only a minute or so later and the man was walking back into view, a fair sized tv being carefully carried in and gently being placed, facing up, on the empty side of the bed.

“Gonna let me have some entertainment, huh?” he smirked, not mockingly, but something between that and a tease and satisfaction. There was relief there too. Finally he’d get something more than just a bland conversation with Winter. He was still so damn cautious and quiet around him, even when he was bedridden.

“I need to go to the store and I’m not letting you leave this room until I can trust you,” so was that it? The soldier had been considering on letting sit in the living room to watch tv while he was out?

“Ouch, where’s the love, Winter?” his smirk widened and he was definitely teasing now, watching as the soldier cleared up the top on his chester-drawers to make space for the tv. He stepped back over to the bed and grabbed it, lifting and taking it over to the hip-high cabinet before carefully setting it down and starting to sort out the wires.

“I didn’t love you to begin with,” he heard him mutter, taking it literally, while leaning over the cleared top next to the tv, reaching down between the chester-drawers and the wall. And it give him a good view of Winters’ jean clad ass. Was it just him or was it a surprisingly nice one? Did he always have an ass like that?

“Harsh, and I thought we were getting to know each other,” he quirked a brow and relaxed, alternating between checking out the soldier rear and… well, no. He was just checking his ass out, full stop. That was it. It was a really good position and it was dead centre of where Rumlow was settled on the bed. So, great ass, dead ahead.

His brow quirked again, but this was because there was silence. Winter didn’t answer him as he sadly shifted and leaned up from lying over the cabinet, not saying a word as he moved the tv into place and then turned it on. He didn’t know why he didn’t retort. There was so many comebacks that worked against what he said and the soldier wasn’t taking advantage of it. Instead, he tossed the remote to the bed, right next to him and the man stared at him, his expression flat and almost distracted… did he ‘ _sense_ ’ him staring at his ass? Hope not.

“Need the bathroom? I’m going to be gone for at least half an hour, give or take,” he muttered quietly, watching him intently from where he stood. The former agent considered it for a moment, taking a few seconds before starting to shake his head.

“Nah, I’m good,” Brock stated, swallowing thickly when the soldier just kept staring. It was seriously unnerving. It was worse when he was the Winter Soldier. Cold, dead, emotionless eyes just staring at you. This was only different because there was some life there, thought behind his actions and he _felt_ things. Things the soldier never did back in HYDRA. He was actually living a life, or at least trying to in this century.

“I’ll be back soon,” he muttered and went to leave, only to pause in the doorway with a firm frown. “Don’t leave this room,” that was definitely an order and he would deny feeling that shudder run down his spine, the intimidation tactic clearly working.

Nothing else was said and he just left, closing the door behind him. Dugan was in the living room. He hadn’t seen the cat since dinner and was content on not seeing him until later. He still held a grudge against the little shit from trying to climb up him a few days ago, and it still hurt like a bitch, regardless of thinking about it or not. It still stuck from the fucking claws. Like little pincers.

Rumlow let out a sigh and reached for the remote, twisting it around in his hand before aiming it at the tv and starting to flick through whatever was on. At least the guy had sky.

\----------

Nearly halfway through his third random episode of Prison Break and he regretted not taking Winter up on the offer to take him to the bathroom. He needed a piss and it was still hard for him to walk around, let alone stand and stabilize himself to piss without his body aching. And the soldier was taking longer than he’d said.

“Half an hour, my ass,” he grumbled. These episodes were around forty-five minutes each, and he was into the third one. Did he get stuck down a drain or something? Maybe a magnetic lift caught him and he was hanging from it by his damn arm. Or maybe Rogers saw him and stopped to talk. Though, he woulda thought that he’d come back with the captain if they ran into each other.

“Fuck it,” Rumlow suddenly cursed, tossing the blanket off completely and then carefully slipping his legs over the edge of the bed. He achingly pushed against his hands and gradually moved away from the headboard, managing to push himself up to a sitting position. His body already felt the burning of struggling wounds protesting his every damn move.

He took a deep breath and pushed the muscle in his legs, putting in some effort to get himself standing, straining and groaning as he somehow got onto his shaking legs and feet. He was still just wearing under, borrowed from Winter. He didn’t by designed one, just plain, dark colours with maybe a seam with a different colour. Like the boxers he wore yesterday, black with a dark red hem. Why was he thinking about the guys underwear? Seriously. First his ass and now what he wore under his pants?

Rumlow took a deeper breath and tried to ignore the searing pain thrumming through him, buzzing and making his muscles protest, but try to keep him up. He’d been through worse, he’d been through fucking worse than a beating by his own fucking men.

Brock tried turning, wincing when he felt the shooting pain, again trying to ignore everything about it as he tried taking steps down the side of the bed and managing to get to the corner, his hand instantly reaching out for the leverage. He let out a quiet sigh when it took off a little bit of the ache.A sliver of relief hit him and he started walking along the bottom, his hand holding tight onto the bottom bed-board. It helped until he was at the other corner, almost glaring at the empty space between him and the door that led to the bathroom. He was considering asking Winter to set up a sort of stable bar that he could use to walk across the room instead needing his help every damn time.

Rumlow swallowed thickly and pushed himself away from the bed, trying to take careful and slow steps across the carpet. He already feel the aching coming on stronger again, crawling under his skin at the strain and struggling. His limbs were shaking and he fucking hated that he felt vulnerable and weak. He was just walking a few feet, why did he feel this fucking bad? It was a casual damn beating and he should be used to them, being a former member of STRIKE.

His attention was shot back when he heard a door closing, keys dangling together and making noise and then footsteps, getting louder. And unfortunately for him, that was when the bedroom door opened and his damn legs gave out on him for his abrupt halt.

He grunted and was about to hit the carpet when Winter shot in and grabbed him, trying to be as careful as ever, but Rumlows’ weight and the kids’ size? Despite his strength, since he was trying to be gentle. Didn’t work. They both ended up on the carpet, Brock lying half over the guy after he tried to catch him. And he swore he saw the cat rush in right after, hiding under the bed, most likely.

“Son ofa-,” he groaned, having gotten a face full of a cold jacket around Winters’ shoulder. He tried pushing himself up, finding it a little hard as they shook from the strain. He pulled his face from the coldness and managed to get up on his hands and knees, finding it a little easier and then took a glance at the faintly surprised look, a bit of confusion and worry lacing it.

“Are… you okay?” Winter asked quietly, almost a whisper-like mutter and he just stared at him, his eyes a little wider than normal. The former agent stared for a moment, feeling warmth in a few places where a limb was and where his hand was. He was lying over the Winter Soldier like it was a normal thing and the guy didn’t seem too bothered by it. Rumlow definitely was. He could feel embarrassment from this and the heat was rising to his damn face.

“Yeah, m’fine,” he replied tightly and curtly, glancing passed his shoulder to the carpet before trying to push himself to sit on his heels, letting out a wince as he sat and looked down at the sprawled out soldier, shifting under him until he was up on his elbows staring up at him. “Needed a piss,” he added fast, seeing the realization and then the man was quickly getting up, crouching in front of him with his hands out. The fast action was definitely a Handlers’ pet reaction. As soon a he said about needing something, the guy was on his feet in seconds.

“C’mon,” he urged casually, Brock almost letting his glare cross his features at the aid. He didn’t want it, despised it in fact, but needing help and wanting it were two different fucking things. And he still needed the damn toilet. Winter was clearly trying to help him with that.

“You tell Rogers about this?” he could see the faint ‘click’ in the mans’ eyes as to what he meant, _needing help to take a piss_ , and there was a shake in his head, a single innocent one. “Good, let’s keep it that way,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought a POV should change around a little, so I'm going to try go between the two to keep stuff interesting :) Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you thought about this chapter, and as always, I like suggestions and feedback, constructive criticism is appreciated too :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5th chapter and it's going good so far :) I'm really enjoying writing this story :)

After that fuck up, nothing was said. Winter looked at him a few times, just glances, like he was worried that he really wasn’t okay after that fall. Rumlow was perfectly fine, yeah, it hurt a little, but pain was a given in his state. It wasn’t anything new and he could damn well handle it.

The aching from it actually died down pretty fast over the next few days. He was still really hurt, bruised and battered, but the throbbing had dropped too. He could just about walk across the room without feeling like he was gonna collapse. It was progress. He’d been here for about a week and he was only now able to get to the toilet without Winter. Obviously the guy stayed close, just in case, regardless of Brocks’ opinions and protests. He eventually just gave up because he had silence as a response and he just waited anyway. He kept a close eyes on him and made sure he was fine. Brock was somewhat grateful to him, almost appreciated it, but he wouldn’t breathe a word of it, was never the type to ‘thank’ anyone, especially his old emotionless charge from HYDRA.

“I don’t get it,” Winter commented quietly next to him. They were both lounging on the bed while watching tv, Dugan on the guys lap while he threaded his metal fingers through the bright fur. They were watching the newest Star Wars movie, the Force Awakens. Brock had never really been a fan, but it was there, the only thing that was part way decent after he watched pretty much everything else the soldier had on dvd. He was tempted to get him to go out and rent or buy more, maybe grab a few from Barton since he had a similar taste the last time Rumlow checked.

“Don’t get what,” he replied, taking a slow glance over at him. His brow was knitted in the centre while he stared at the tv, turning to look at him for a second before looking back and gesturing to the the screen in general.

“It’s basically a rehash of the older movie. It’s just a bigger Death Star that needed to blow up,” he shrugged. It was a pretty good movie, but Rumlow agreed to a point, agreed that it was a bigger star, but he wasn’t planning on talking about it like it was important.

“See what you mean,” he turned back to the screen, seeing the end scene start, with the girl and the old man, Luke. As soon as he saw the hand he took a side glance at the soldier, hearing the ‘whirr’ of the mechanics on the inside as he moved it a little. He could faintly see the movement of tension forcing the metal to bend a little, just subtly, like any other normal arm. Clearly this scene wasn’t something he liked, like it had a bit of an effect on him by seeing it.

Thankfully, the soldiers’ attention was suddenly drawn by the knocking on the front door, and Winter was instantly up, the cat having to catch himself as he woke, but then lied down, eyes only slits where he stared off after the man. Rumlow lazily grabbed the remote and paused the movie, keeping his ears open. He could hear the quiet, frail with a smokers- rasp voice. An old lady?

Brock knitted his brow and eased himself up, pushing until he was sitting with his feet touching the carpet. He grabbed the nearest shirt and bed pants and slipped into them before standing, pulling the dark plaid up over his ass, and then managing his way around the room, walking slow and cautiously. He wasn’t going to fall again.

He kept his winces and pain silent as he slipped through the door and into the living room, closing it behind him so the cat couldn’t leave. He walked around the kitchen counter and further into the room to see Winter at the open door, a really old looking standing there with a lovely old smile… that she easily directed at him when he came into view. The soldier then glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening just a tad.

“Oh, I didn’t know you had company,” the way she said it was clearly suggestive and he nearly laughed. Instead, he let a smile grace his lips before he slowly walked over. “He’s quite the catch,” she said quietly to Winter and Rumlow couldn’t help it. He had to cause shit at this point, make the mans’ life that little bit harder for him.

“No, ma’am. I was just the fisherman, James here’s the catch,” he smirked softly and carefully threw his arm around the mans’ shoulders, feeling him tense under the contact, but he didn’t move. If anything, he looked faintly taken aback by this and didn’t know what to do. “And a damn fine catch, he is,” he added and leaned in closer, making it that little bit awkward for him. He could see that he was slowly getting his composer back, his eyes seeming to want to roll, but they turned to stare at him and then turned back to the woman, making the ‘he’s an idiot’ gesture in his features. Which was basically his eyebrows lifted it and he did, in fact, roll his eyes. Winter was seriously just rolling with what Brock said. And _that_ surprised the former agent.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, glancing between them before stopping on Winter. “You need to keep him,” she smiled and he felt the man let out a quick sigh through his nose.

“I plan to,” the soldier spoke tightly, though it wasn’t obvious. He was really going along with what Rumlow started and it was a shit-ton of fun. He could even feel the faint squirming under his arm, the mans’ shoulders tense and ansty. “So, your sink?” he quickly changed the subject, seeming a little hopeful. And he was sure it was hope that he could get out of there fast to go fix something.

“Oh yes! I think it’s blocked,” she went straight into innocent old lady mode and gave them her best ‘would you be a dear’ expression.

“I’ll go get my tools,” he smiled tightly and ducked under Rumlows arm before heading back into the apartment. He let out a scoff as he watched him turn the corner and he glanced back to the woman, taking in subtle little things.

“Would you like some tea-,” he saw the ring. “-Miss…”

“Gloria,” she smiled. “Just Gloria, and tea would be lovely, thank you,” Brock stepped back and out of the way, moving to let her pass by and shuffle slowly into the living room. He followed behind and then went straight to the kitchen, hearing the quiet ‘two sugars, honey’. He flipped the kettle on and got three cups, sorting out the tea-bags first.

It was while he was putting the last bag in a cup that Winter came around with a tool bag on his shoulder, walking up to him and stopping close with a serious expression.

“Can I trust you not to cause any problems while I’m next door?” he raised an amused brow at the mans’ whispered words and shifted away from the counter-top, stepping up close and into Winters’ personal bubble. The soldier didn’t step back, but stood his ground, even when he reached out a hand and rested it on his hip, a soft smile on his face for show because he knew the old lady was watching from the sofa.

“Like something worse than ‘we’re dating’?” he smirked, seeing faint urge to eyeroll zip through him. “I ain’t gonna start a conversation on how are sex-life is,” he teased with a faint chuckle, noting how he took a quick breath and then glanced away.

“We don’t have a sex-life,” Winter whispered deeply through clenched teeth.

“And that’s why you’re always cranky,” Rumlow said loud enough for the lady to hear, catching the stifled giggle from the other side of the room. “You need sex,” he spoke quieter, like it was actually a suggestion. Hell, it was an idea. Maybe he could get Winter a stripper or something. Get a whore off the street and let her have her way.

“Just don’t cause trouble,” the soldier sighed quietly before moving away. Rumlow then quickly and carefully grabbed his arm pulling him back to see the cautious frown on his face. He put on a smiled and leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss on the mans temple. And the look he got in return, damn, he was so dead when he got back! He looked way too confused with insanely wide eyes and the slightly agape mouth. Clearly that was a first for him...

“See ya when you get back,” he still had the smile, even when Winter swallowed thickly and quickly made to leave, heading straight for the door. Thankfully, he didn’t slam it.

Rumlow quirked an eyebrow with a satisfied and smug smirk and then went back to making the tea. He left the soldiers’ void of anything until he got back. He poured the hot water and put milk in and all that shtick and grabbed the two cups, picking them up before making his way around the kitchen and into the living room where the old lady was waiting with a little smile on her face. He carefully put the cups down on the coffee table and sat on the other end of the sofa, a forced smile on his own.

“And you are?” she questioned instantly, not even beating around the bush to get into a conversation.

“I’m Brock, an old friend of James’,” he spoke calmly, relaxing back into the sofa and against the arm of the chair.

“Old friend? So you knew each other a while before you two got together?” she just kept smiling a genuine smile while they talked. Rumlow was actually thinking that _that_ was the only expression she had.  

“Yeah, for a good few years now. We worked together a lot. Lost contact after some time,” he shrugged. He wasn’t lying, this was all truth with the details under wraps. Rumlow highly doubted the lady would catch him out on anything. He had a pretty good story going in his head if he screwed something up or she _did_ notice that there was something up.

“And what brought you back?”

“ _Him_ actually,” _in a very literal sense_. “I got hurt and he’s helpin’ me out. Sort of escalated from there, without us seeing it,” and that was a partial lie. He _was_ helping him and patching him up and caring for him. He was nervously awaiting the day that Rogers shows up and takes him to a prison or to a SHIELD base or something and then he wouldn’t have the gentle care that the _Winter Soldier_ was giving him.

“A classic start to a romance,” she trailed off, seeming to think for a few minutes. He’d realized that he basically just dropped himself in shit-creek. He could easily play a romantic or a life-partner, but it was going to be harder considering who he’d paired himself with. He doubted James would want to play the roles for long. So being touchy-feely and cuddly together when the old lady came by again was going to be a little difficult for them. Though they could say it was getting complicated and they break up or something. They’d have to wait for some time though, to make it look real.

“I remember his grandfather,” his thoughts were quickly dropped at the sentence. Grandfather? The guy was like… nearly a hundred years old! How the hell would she-... oh. “Old James Buchanan Barnes. A howling Commando, he was. Saved lives with Captain America back in the 40s’,”

“Really,” he slowly tilted his head, a gesture for her to continue. He read a few things from the files he was given, but reading and hearing it from someone that was there made it more real, made it interesting.

“He was a good man. Worked hard. Was dashing. A ladies’ man, treated women right, and he was a gentleman. Held doors open, beatdown the thugs and men with bad intentions. He had to have made some woman real happy,” now this… none of this was in the files. Rumlow had a thoughtful look on his face for show. On the inside, he was dying to laugh. This conversation was just too amusing and he really couldn’t imagine any of this as the Soldier that was babysitting him. “He’d be proud of his boy. Just as dashing, kind, a gentleman. A little damaged, I’ll admit, but he’s a real good man,” she pointed her finger, almost like she was emphasizing her point. “You treat him right, boy,” she turned a firm expression on him, a serious one. She seemed to really care about Winter, ore than anybody would for anyone else. The guy must’ve made a great impression on some people, this woman being an example.

Maybe he should ease up a bit, maybe make life a little easier on the guy.

Rumlow gave an open expression and started a slow nod, head moving back and forth rhythmically. Yeah he’d treat him right after all the wrong. It was time to own up to the shit he put him through. To at least right as many wrongs as he could.

“I’ll do my very best,” he muttered, trying to put as much truth as he could into it.

“S’all I ask,” she smiled again, reaching for her cup of tea and blowing gently before taking the first sip. There was a satisfied sigh and she took another. “If it wasn’t _love_ he’s keeping you here for, it’s the tea,” she joked. He must make a pretty damn good cup if she really just said that. Brock scoffed and reached for his own, taking a sip from it and feeling the heat run down his throat and warm his insides. He breathed contently as a response and turned towards the door when he heard the click.

“I did what I could for now. I’ll pick up new tubing for the inner-seal. Yours is rusting pretty bad and it’s catching on the stuff you rinse down into it,” Winter said after closing the front door and turning towards them. His shirt was soaked right through and if anyone looked hard enough, they’d be able to see where the metal attached to skin on the left side of his chest. “I’ll fix it up as soon as I can,” he added with a tense smile before tossing the tool bag to the side and turning to head straight for the bedroom to, more than likely, change his clothes.

“Alrighty, thank you, dear,” she smile happily and shakily put the practically empty cup down before standing. “I’d better get going so you two can have your time together,” Rumlow strained to stand with her, being careful while putting his own cup down to try and walk her to the door.

“See you again,” he heard Winter call before the bedroom door closed, and that left Brock and Gloria alone again as they made their way to the door.

“You remember what I said, honey. Be good to him, he deserves it,”

“I will, and thanks,” he smiled a little, registering that it was somewhat genuine after she turned with a wave and headed back to her own door. He waited, keeping a cautious eye on her before he headed back in and closed the door. That was when he paused, suddenly realizing that Winter just let him roam around the living room and even open the front door to let the lady out. Was being trusted not to cause trouble a part of this? Maybe he was actually getting a little leeway with the other man.

Brock swallowed and sighed, starting to limp a little as he walked back into the room and towards the kitchen. He’d been moving around to much in the last hour or so. He turned the kettle back on and sorted out Winters’ cup, waiting until he heard a ‘pop’ pouring water into the soldiers mug and then the milk and stirring, pulling the teabag out soon after. He stirred and put the spoon down, waiting by the small island until the other man came out, re-wearing the pjay set he had on before with his hair back up in a messy bun, strands of his long fringe hanging with a few drawn behind his ears.

“Here,” he eased the cup along the surface of the table top, watching the sharp, cautious eyes watching him and his movements. There was also curiosity there, from the cup of tea or from the fact that he was still there and hadn’t left, he didn’t know. It was clear that this was something, a start to progress maybe, from the soldiers’ point of view.

“... I’m sorry,” Rumlow said deeply, pausing to see the knitting of his brow and his arms over his chest, a little expectantly. “... about earlier, about causing you shit these last few days,” he paused again and leaned up from the island, stepping around it to stand right in front of the soldier, seeing the unwavering eyes set on him, very firmly. “...about how shitty I use to treat you, how much crap I put you through. I’m sorry that ‘I’ was your handler,” he reached his hands out hesitantly, resting them on the mans shoulders and giving a firm squeeze.

“I shoulda treated you better. I shoulda treated you like a damn human instead of some brain-dead robot,” he needed to say this, all of it, for both their sakes. Being sincere and genuine wasn’t his thing, but he was trying his fuckin’ best right here! “I doubt I’d be able to make it up to you in this life, but I’m’onna try my fuckin’ hardest… For what it’s worth… I’m sorry,”

There was silence. Winter was just staring at him, eyes wide and open with his emotion. There was so much going on inside of him and it scared Rumlow on how much life was actually there when he was used to the cold deadness that was the Winter Soldier. This was new territory for him.

There was subtle nodding, Winters’ head slowly bobbing before he reached up and removed the hands, gradually leaning into him and he felt the soldiers’ head drop heavily onto his shoulder, a throb going right through his arm when he dropped his forehead on a wound, not a really bad one, but _damn!-_ did the soldier have a hard skull!

No words, no speaking, no noises, just silence. That was all that was between them as they just stood there, Winters’ head on his shoulder with no hands on each other. Just the head-to-shoulder contact. It was nice, calm, quiet… even with the recent pitter-patter of rain spraying the windows.

And then…

“Jaaaayyyyy- _Sonofa-!_ ” in a split second they broke apart and Winter turned him around to shove him towards the bedroom. The fuck was Barton doing here!? And drunk!! He was drunk!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism and criticism in general is awesome!! Please, thank you, enjoy!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Practically mowing through the start to this :) I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was really fun to get through :D

James swiftly manoeuvred Rumlow back to the bedroom, the cat darting out just as the former agent was shoved in. He’d have to apologize for being a little rough in his haste.

As soon as he closed the door, he turned back around to Barton, seeing him slumped back against the now closed door with a grin and closed eyes, like he’d fallen asleep right there. He could see the mostly empty bottle of jack in his grip too. So, this made him assume that he was out of the tower again, maybe having pissed Stark off after getting himself wasted. This really wasn’t the way to cope with issues. James would have to talk to Romanov, or maybe he’d send Barton her way so she could babysit the drunk archer.

“Barton,” he greeted casually as he stepped over to him at the door. He reached for the bottle, having to put a little effort into pry the neck from his hand and then manoeuvre him from the door, slipping his now free hand around his shoulders to drag him from the hall and into the living room. He dumped him onto the couch, not bothering to right his position, with his face pressed into the arm of the chair and his body sprawled out over it. James would say that it was a little early to be this wasted. He remembered a few little things, having a drink with friends at specific times was one of them, an odd one, he’d admit.

It was currently half seven, a little early for his taste. And definitely too early to be in Bartons’ state. He either started early in the afternoon or drank everything in a matter of minutes. Either way, he wasn’t in any state to be walking the streets or to be in the tower, if he did, in fact, piss someone off. A stupidly drunken Clint wasn’t a fun one to mess with. Minorly drunk or averagely drunk, he was fun.

James stared for a moment, watching him as he just lay there, face down. He was breathing easy, like he’d fallen asleep, but he was awake. There was a twitch to him, a mannerism and he knew he was awake, he was just overly relaxed and tired. Maybe over-tired and that’s why it seemed like he was sleeping. The soldier shook his head and headed to the kitchen, grabbing one of the litre cups he owned and filling it with water before heading back over and putting it on the coffee table. He moved to sit down right on the edge of the sofa, where there was a little space at Clints’ waist and he waited, resting his elbows on his knees with his eyes roaming over the back of the mans’ head.

“Amuny put-sa,” in English, that would be ‘I want a pizza’. James actually scoffed at that and pushed himself to stand again before heading towards the bedroom where he swapped his wet clothes for pjays earlier. He opened the door and slipped in, keeping his ears out just in case Barton decided to follow.

He glanced over at the bed, seeing Rumlow practically lounging up against the headboard while watching tv with the volume turned way down. He was looking over at him with a flat expression, seeming bored out of his mind already, even though he hadn’t been there long.

“You want a pizza?” James asked quietly, making sure to keep it down so the archer wouldn’t hear him. “If you don’t, I’m pretty sure they sell kebabs and burgers. I get free chicken swings too, depending on how much I pay,” he added casually and grabbed his phone from his jeans that were on the floor. He was faintly surprised that Rumlow hadn’t found it and rifled through the contacts and info he had on it. The little thing held so much, thanks to Stark.

“Pizza’s fine, 12 inch meat feast. Spicy chicken wings sound nice too,” he nodded at his words and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, a leg coming up while the other just hung there. He went through the contacts and went straight to the names saved in ‘order-in’. He found his usual pizza place and pressed the dial button, holding it up to his ear just as it started ringing. He took a casual glance at the former agent, looking him over before a thought came to him.

“... I didn’t hurt you did I?” he moved the bottom half of the phone from his mouth, still watching the other man while it kept ringing.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Rumlow gave him a ‘sort of’ reassuring smile. He gave him a subtle nod in return and just kept his eyes on him as there came an answer through his cell.

\---------- **Food came about 8:00-ish. It’s 11:00-ish**

About half an hour was when the pizza showed up at his door with a knock, a young teenage kid was smiling and grinning while holding three flat boxes and a bag under his arm, with free drink and chicken wings. He made sure to order a bigger box of the wings, because he now knew that the three guys loved them. So, he got the large bucket. He even tossed a few skins and pieces of his wings into Dugans’ bowl as a treat. They obviously didn’t last long. And neither did Clints’ food. He ate it in seconds.

And if Barton saw him subtly and sneakily taking the extra pizza and wings into his bedroom, he didn’t question him. No, he just started eating and ignored everything around him for some time instead. It was like he was zoned out to the world, ignoring everything around him in favour of stuffing his food, which James was somewhat grateful for.

He’d set up his extra tv, the newer, bigger model of his older one. He made the excuse that it was busted and he was going to set up the newer one when he had the time. And he did, right after he finished his own pizza, which Clint stole about a half of, the basterd. He got to work on dragging the new box into the room from his storage cupboard and the started about putting it on top of the tv table, resting it there before plugging it in and sorting out the cable wires and the centring. Didn’t take too long, he’d had practise around the apartment building with the older generation. Apparently, he was famous with these people. He’d heard good words thrown around and he was mostly asked to help out with things others couldn’t do, so, he was somewhat of a favourite with everyone in the building. Which made him feel good, in the big picture. He helped and they were grateful and then he felt like he did a good deed.

Barton suggested a few movies, even gaming against each other, but like he’d pointed out a few times to the drunk guy, he didn’t have any game consoles, didn’t have the need for them. He’d thought about it, but things like that was just a waste of time in his eyes. He could just as easily spend his time catching up on the world and reading, even training. What would he need a console for? Yeah, it was hip and cool with the current generation, but he would, supposedly, be in the triple digits next year. Born in 1917, and soon to be 100. Steve was catching him with age too. He was only a few years behind.

He didn’t need distractions, was what he meant by this inner rant.

James let a yawn slip his lips, his mouth opening wide with a click in his jaw as he inhaled and exhaled tiredly. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger and turned to look at the archer, knitting his brow when he saw that he was out, sprawled across his side of the sofa while completely knocked out. He was breathing easy, his brow wasn’t creased and he seemed practically comatose. So, maybe him coming over was a good thing. The drink probably helped him fall asleep too. Hopefully he’d stay like that until James was up. He really didn’t like the thought that he’d have to explain Rumlow to him. It was stupidly risky letting the Avenger stay the night in the first place, even stupider with having Brock in the next room.

The soldier yawned again and wiped his eyes before tiredly pushing himself to stand. He had a feeling that some stress was getting to him, and ignoring it and trying to progress with this whole ‘Rumlow’ issue was just making it worse. It was waking him up earlier than he’d liked and he was taking longer to actually sleep. He was thinking too much on ‘what if I get caught’. He’d be in trouble with Steve, the other avengers and he would get shit from Fury, who told him that if he did slip up, then it was to one of the secure bases he’d go. He didn’t want that. And if it wasn’t SHIELD that caught him, it’d be HYDRA. And it felt worse thinking about that. He’d rather a secure SHIELD base than a HYDRA cell were they’d revert him back to a loyal puppet.

He didn’t like it and stress wasn’t something he needed. James needed to relax, maybe try to trust Brock long enough to get a full night's rest… rest… sleeping.

… damn, he’d have to share with Rumlow tonight… or sleep on the floor, the floor sounded better than sharing a bed with the man… but he didn’t have any other spare pillows or blankets… Goddammit...

He huffed and reached to the blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa and unfolded it, flicking it out and then throwing it over Clint while he held onto the corners. He draped it over the man and stared for a moment before reaching for the remote and turning it down low. He was sure that Barton used to leave something running, for background. James remembered seeing him sleeping with the tv on a few times. It was like a background comfort. So, he left it on, but turned it down, so there was still sound. He was hopeful that he could hear it from the bedroom, that way, Clint wouldn’t be able to hear them if a conversation started when he begrudgingly joined Rumlow in his room.

James gave the archer one last look before he turned and made his way towards his bedroom door, reaching out to the lightswitch as he grabbed the handle with his other hand and opened it. He flicked the switch and stepped into the dimly lit room, turning a quick glance at the former agent before closing the door and heading to the bathroom. He tried to take his time with taking a leak, washing his hands and brushing his teeth, but the jobs were done pretty fast and he’d be in bed soon.

“How long’s he stayin’?” he heard from the bedroom and James paused, nearly finished with his teeth when Brock questioned him. He knitted his brow and spat the paste out.

“Hopefully, just tonight,” he replied loud enough for the other man to hear, hoping it was quiet enough that Clint didn’t hear, though he was out cold. “If not, then I’ll get into contact with Romanov,” he added as an afterthought.

“You’re tight with the assassin _and_ the spy?” he didn’t sound that surprised, there was more of a confirmation-like sound to the sentence, like James gave him a rightly assumed verification on something. He was probably trying to get an idea on where he stood with the Avengers and SHIELD.

The soldier spat more paste out and rinsed the brush under the tap before sticking it into the side cup and rinsing out his mouth with water. He then wiped his face down and smirked, suddenly getting an idea on getting him back for earlier, payback. He quietly scoffed to himself and dropped the towel on the counter next to the sink. He moved to stand in the threshold, arms crossed and his quickly dropped the smirk a little, a just about, noticeable curve in his lips.

“You sound jealous. Upset ‘cause I’m hanging with the Avengers instead of you?” he tilted his head a little, seeming curious when a look was thrown his way. Obviously, he probably didn’t feel that way. He was just messing with the man because Rumlow messed with _him_.

“Nope, you can hang with whatever shmuck you want, ain’t my business,” Brock shook his head and turned back to the quiet tv, watching a documentary by the looks of it.

“Wouldn’t that make you a shmuck since I hung around _you_ whenever I was out of cryo?” he left the part about being forced and unwilling out of it. He didn’t want to cause any problems or awkwardness between them at this point. He was thinking that they were actually talking now, at least good acquaintances, if anything.

“I was your handler, you were _forced_ to hang around me,” he didn’t seem too bothered about making it awkward…

“And what about those times they had to keep me out for a longer time? I actually got to _choose_ to stay close to you while they were either upgrading it or refuelling it,” he watched as the mans’ face suddenly went blank, his eyebrows rising as if catching on with the realization of it.

“... You got me there,” he finally said, seeming to not have a comeback for James’. If he let a grin grace his lips for a split-second, he wouldn’t deny it. It was rare that he won in a game of verbal wit. What he would deny, was that he had a little bounce in his slow stride across the room as he made his way to the bed. He hesitated when he finally reached the empty side, gracefully dropping to sit on the edge and stare at the tv as he gradually moved over it to get comfortable. He was slouched down, further than Rumlow, with his arms crossed and his ankles locked.

He was watching things on sea creatures, currently sharks praying on seals and penguins. James was sure he didn’t have any dvds on this, so he must’ve been watching it through his cable or something. He’d admit that it was all interesting stuff to see, watching as some guy talked in the background about animals and nature. He hadn’t really thought about. Vision watched a lot of this stuff, but that was because he’d had no knowledge of any of this after _being born_ , as Stark called it.

“How come you’re shacking up with _me_ instead of your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he tiredly muttered back, opting for shifting down the bed until his head was on the pillow, an arm snaking under to brace his skull and he closed his eyes, resting his other arm over his abdomen. “I don’t do relationships,” he added a little breathily as he sighed.

“So, proves my point from before… you need to get laid,” James could hear the humour in his tone and he just wanted to slap him from the comment, but being too tired and currently comfortable had him saving the slap for later, when he was more awake. Comfort won out.

He sighed and shifted, making one swift movement to slip under the covers and turn away from the other man. He gave one last yawn and duck his face into the pillows. He hoped that trusting Rumlow not to stab him in his sleep was a good move, he couldn’t be sure, but there was more trust there and it was odd, feeling it for the man that used to handle him as the Winter Soldier.

“Night, Winter,” Brock said softly, being so quiet, like he thought that being louder would disturb him or something. It brought an unnoticeable curve to his lips while he faced away and into the pillow. It was nice hearing it, and it coming from Rumlow just made it weird. A nice-weird, he guessed.

“Night,” he muffled into the padded fabric, feeling the softness and warmth collecting around him under the blanket and where his face was buried in the pillow. It felt like he was sinking further into the bed as a few seconds turned to minutes, feeling heavier and heavier until he finally started drifting, feeling warmth and a little shifting next to him. Brock was probably getting comfortable to sleep too.

\----------

Waking up was tremendously odd, especially when after stirring, he was met with tanned, hot skin and the texture of a plaster sticking to his forearm. He groggily knitted his brow in a frown and gradually shifted his flesh limb, unsticking his arm and resting it on a clear patch of warm skin before closing his eyes again and unintentionally resting closer to the warmth. James let out a wide yawn and ducked his head.

“Mornin’, sleepin’ beauty,” his eyes were instant saucer size. The soldier shifted up onto his elbow and looked over the expanse of a bare, tanned torso, littered with plasters and a few healed scars. He swallowed and looked up, seeing the stupidly smug expression on his face. James groaned tiredly and quickly, but gracefully and carefully, _minding Brocks’ injuries_ , pushed himself up and turned over, lying away from Rumlow in the position he fell asleep in. “What, no ‘good mornin’, prince charming’?”

He wasn’t going to bother correcting him on which prince was which. One, because he wouldn’t live it down, and two, it was stupid. Yeah, he watched the movies, thanks to Steve.

James stiffened when Rumlow shifted and an arm suddenly snaked his upper waist, running under the metal of his forearm. His entire body was tense and he breathed in fast pants, though he was trying to bring it down, even when Brocks’ chin rested on the metal of his shoulder, seeming comfortable there. The soldier definitely wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this story and how it's going, I really hope you do too. Please let me know what you think, I like the feedback, whether it's constructive criticism or just something conversational, I really don't mind :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a few days to get this up. Still helping my sister with her house. We were painting the walls in one room and emptying it out. The landlord wanted it done for the family moving in, so... I stayed overnight to help and she doesn't have internet yet :/

He felt the warmth growing between them, Brocks’ body far too close and comfortable for his liking. It was way too intimate, _too intimate!_ The temple kiss was nothing, he couldn’t have cared less, but this… being touched like- The touching, the hands, the arm- the cuddling in the morning was a couples thi-, _too intimate!_ He almost let out a whimper.

James couldn’t get any stiffer, the tension was as strong as a metal beam trying to be bent without being heated. And the deep chuckle against his neck didn’t make the situation any better. It wasn’t a bad noise, no ill intent, it was just a laugh that made it seem as if he thought that this would be a typical reaction. Like he’d expected it. 

"Cool it, Winter. I'm not gonna hurt you," he heard Rumlow say with soft amusement right into his ear. He didn't seem at all bothered about their position, and James was more than sure that he was doing this to mess with him, to get under his skin in his own form of teasing and joking around. "Ease up on the tension," he was doing it to get to him and yet he was trying to calm him down too? Telling him to 'ease up on the tension' was like telling Tony Stark to stop working in his lab for a week. It wasn't going to happen without a shit-ton of effort and someone holding him back. 

The soldier didn’t say a word, and didn’t acknowledge what he was saying, or telling him to do. His reaction was understandable and it was logical to him that he’d stiffen at the touch, at Rumlows’ touch. The last time there was a lingering touch was when he’d hit him after he’d stupidly questioned one of his orders back when he was the Soldier. He’d never questioned him after that. He just listened or shed away after everything. 

He was surprised he wasn’t struggling at that moment, wasn’t trying to break the hold, but that was… maybe down to feeling like he would be thought less of, like he’d expect a slap or harsh words… This was the Winter Soldiers thoughts on his handier, a reaction to his handler and the feeling he had of his handler… his handler. He wasn’t the soldier anymore and yet, here he was, afraid that he would disappoint the man that used to handle him. Years later and he was still afraid...

James unintentionally shook lightly under the touch, not able to catch his breath as it became audible. He could feel the fear and anxiety gradually rising in him, hitting his nerves as hard as an instinctive reflex during missions. It hit him roughly and he soon felt the arm around him falter, the entire warm body behind him pausing and then he was shifting, feeling his handler manoeuvre them until James was on his back with the man completely leaning over him, and he was staring up at the confused and concerned expression solidly covering Rumlows’ features. He seemed genuinely alert and utterly lost by his reaction. 

“Winter, hey! Calm down,” the man seemed to instantly snap into his own composure and a hand was suddenly reaching out, James trying not to flinch at the hot touch to his jawline and neck. It was meant as comfort, he knew this, but his body reacted differently. He swallowed roughly and dropped his gaze from the man’s’ eyes and down to his chest, as if submitting like he’d done many a time under Agent Rumlows’ command. Averting the eye contact and lowering the level was the equivalent as saying ‘ _yeah, I'll listen_ ’. That was basically what he’d just done. 

… It was as if he was reverting, just from being hugged from behind by the man that ‘took care’ of him. 

“Winter, look at me,” the voice was calm and easy, like he was trying to be soft with him right now. James panted roughly through his nose, in a mild panic, an internal conflict that was really making it hard for him to concentrate. He swallowed thickly again, but managed to listen, his gaze wavering frantically as he tried to look the man in the eyes. It was hard to keep them there, staring right into solidly focused pupils. It just made his panting rougher. He rarely had panic attacks anymore, but he remembered what they felt like, and he was really feeling one coming on. 

“Listen to me, soldier. Focus, you can do it,” Brock was still so calm and it was worrying him as to how he was this fucking calm right now. James was hurting, freaking out on the inside and definitely on the outside. “Focus on me, my voice, my face, anything. Just concentrate, Winter,” he really tried, he seriously did. He managed to listen, taking in the man’s’ voice and memorising what he’d said already. He took in the tone, the pitch, the easy drawl he had with the roughness and ghastly deepness that reminded him of gravel. He thought of the way he called him Winter, and just kept repeating the word, over and over like a mantra. He liked the way he called him that. It was a name only Rumlow used and no one from HYDRA or SHIELD called him that. Only Brock. Was it odd that he was really sentimental at the thought? That only one person called him by that name? Like it was something special...

“That’s it, Winter,” he focused on the name again and on how softly it was said, the gentleness and smoothness just lacing the words like a silk ribbon being wrapped around your wrist. Just thinking it and concentrating on the name had his breathing dimming to something stable, deep breathes leaving his lungs and filling them. His chest was rising and falling easily now, the warmth of the body resting over him actually helping a little since he recognised it as Rumlow. The hands resting on his jawline and neck were Rumlows’. The strong thighs between his own, Rumlows’. The soft voice still gently calling him Winter, Rumlows’. The heated breath blanketing his face… Rumlows’.

“I got you,” how his voice and tone managed to get softer, James didn’t know, but he shrugged it off in favour of trying to relax, listening to said voice until he was thoroughly spent and melting into the mattress that was sticking to his back from the sweat that had came over him while he freaked out. Because that was what he did, he freaked out from being spooned...

James took one last deep breath before closing his eyes and furrowing his brow with a huff. He was relaxed, lying flatly and sinking into the bed with Brock still leaning over him while they were under the blanket, their legs tangled a little from the frantic movements Rumlow caused to get an advantage on his panic attack. 

Once he’d tiredly opened his eyes again he was met with Brock still staring at him, looking his face over rapidly, like he was making sure he was really okay, or maybe he was waiting for a sign of confirmation or something. He didn’t know what to say if it was the latter. ‘ _I’m fine_ ’ was simple, but it wasn’t something he’d say. His silence and the fact that he was currently gazi- _staring!_ up at him should’ve been enough. He wasn’t ‘gazing’ at anyone.

So, to try something else, he decided to reach out his metal hand, his flesh one gradually following to gently rest on the man’s wrists, close to the hands that were still pressing against his jaw and neck. He slowly, smoothly ran them up his forearms, sliding over his joints of the elbows and they continued higher until they reached his shoulders, where he stopped and stared up into the eyes that had looked away to the metal hand, scrutinising it, but not in the way James thought he would. He was watching it with interest, not concern of fear that the soldier would suddenly dislocate his arm. 

“I’d ask what that was about, but I’m pretty sure I a’ready know the answer,” it was… oddly surprising to hear the disdain in his tone, like he didn’t like the answer he came up with from this situation. Maybe he thought a bit too deep into his answer and it wasn’t a nice one to think about. He could imagine the man going deep into a thought. He used to space out after he reported to Pierce after missions. He’d let his mind wander when they’d done a job, like he was zoning out as a relaxation method. And usually, he seemed calmer after it, before he’d left to do his double-agent duty, working under SHIELD and Captain Rogers. 

And back to the answer. James was actually curious as to what his outcome was, yet he didn’t want to ask. There were a ton that could be right with his issues. PTSD was the number one problem, touch-starved was another, regardless of having regular contact from Steve and back in HYDRA, thought that was more ‘beatings’ and ‘punishment’ than the physical contact he craved. What this was right now, Brock above him, still holding him comfortingly, this was what he needed, what he wanted. Another was ‘reflective reactions’ from years of physical pain that he’d automatically shy away from touch, in general. 

Really, he was just a bag of ‘touch and PTSD’ issues. But he still wasn’t going to ask what Brock had been thinking. 

James stayed quiet, lying motionless under the man while staring up and being completely relaxed into the bed. It wasn’t awkward. It actually felt almost as calming as thinking of Rumlow when he called him Winter. The position and proximity was somewhat comfortable now that he was calmer and thankful that he hadn’t gone into a full blown panic attack. 

The soldier stifled a yawn and glanced to his side, locking his eyes on the clock. It had confirmed his faint feeling that his body-clock had been off kilter. They’d woken up earlier than usual, Rumlow probably being the cause since they’d slept in the same bed and it had put James on guard until a few hours before waking. It was too early, and he was sure that they maybe had just over an hour or so before Barton woke up. 

James let a tired sigh slip through his lips before he shifted onto his right, Rumlow still above him as he untangled their legs to get comfortable. The soldier even pulled back his metal hand, but lowered the right until he had a loose grip on his wrist, a silent request if anything. 

“You sure you won’t freak if I spoon you again?” he could hear the very faint amusement at the word ‘spoon’, like he wanted to lighten the mood, but was still concerned about the risk that he’d go into another panic. 

“If I do… call me by that nickname,” he murmured groggily, almost feeling the curious brow rising at his answer. 

“Winter?” James hummed in confirmation at the name, hiding the slight curve in his lips at hearing the name again. He wouldn’t admit out loud that he was actually becoming fond of it. Steve called him Bucky, a name from his past that used to hold happiness and glee and there were a few memories where women would call to him, using that name. A ladies man. A soldier, a Sergeant.

Now, some people call him James or just Barnes, and it still reminded him of the past, admittedly, not as much as being called Bucky, but a few of the Commandos used to call him all three, a majority called him Bucky, and then James, and Barnes. It still hurt thinking about it.

He gradually started to close his eyes and deepen his breathing when he heard and felt the slow shifting, Brock being careful and pronouncing his movements before hesitantly settling behind him, his arm gradually lacing his upper waist and returning to its position under his metal forearm. James stayed as still as possible, letting him move and shift closer, holding him there in what could only be described as cuddling.

… Why were they even spooning? It was meant as teasing after James turned over not a few minutes ago, now it actually felt like Brock was trying to give him some comfort, a joke turned to soothing and consoling. It was a little odd to feel all this, especially from Rumlow.

If someone told him a few weeks ago that he’d be housing Brock Rumlow and said man would be comforting him, he’d have scoffed and imagined more than a few ways to kill the person.

“I gotta ask…” he heard the former agent trail off for a second, shifting only a little to return his chin to James’ shoulder. “... Why ain’t you livin’ with Rogers? Or with any of the other Avengers?” the soldier knitted his brow and then tilted his head to get a quick glance of the other man. He raised a brow and dropped his head back again, facing forward on the pillow. It was a simple question, but the answer was a little complicated. Everything was after he was given a room in the Facility. It got too awkward and weird for him. He’d still had problems with being the Winter Soldier and would sometimes revert for an hour or so, and most of the time, it was at night. When everyone was sleeping, he’d be wandering the halls, wondering where he was and why Pierce wasn’t there when he woke up.

One night, it was Barton that found him, having been wandering around too, probably from lack of sleep, and he’d managed to bring him back. Romanov was another night, a while after that and eventually the three just clicked, and after slowly getting know them, and James hung around them the most. They could bring him back because they had similar situations in their past.

But... even if they had something in common, James was a lot more dangerous, too dangerous. For all of them. That was his underlining point. He could kill them so easily and it would be because of what he used to be.

“... Lack of trust,” was all he said, his voice flat and tired. He breathed easy and closed his eyes again, digging his face further into the pillow and letting out a long sigh.

“I’d get not trusting a few of them, but I woulda thought you’d trust Rogers, at least,” he didn’t get it, and not because James didn’t say it as he thought it. Brock was a little oblivious.

“... In myself,” he added quietly, his voice still pretty flat. James trusted the team to a point, but not enough to watch his back. They would, he knew that, but he didn’t trust them enough to stay like that. Barton... maybe, Romanov, maybe. Steve, definitely, but the rest... he wasn’t too sure.

Anyway, it was himself he was worried about. He could revert at any time and then he’d be at fault for hurting the team. He’d hurt more than a few people and it would be DC all over again. It’d be Starks’ parents... all over again. It’d be everyone he’d killed over a span of 70 years, all over again.

“Ah,” the sound was like, he’d just realized what he’d meant and didn’t know exactly what to say to it, even if it was expected. And it was understandable. If James thought about it, he would’ve thought that Brock would have understood that he’d feel this way. Years of brainwashing/mind-wiping and years spent in a damn freezer only to be brought out to kill people. Yeah, there’d be self-trust issues. He was sure that was what went through the mans’ head at that moment. Maybe some guilt or remorse there too since he seemed to instinctively tighten the arm around him, lacing it further around his upper body. Like he was afraid James would leave the bed or him after all this thought and talking. He wouldn’t be surprised if that little freak out earlier shook him a little too.

“Go back to sleep,” he muttered tiredly, trying to focus on the body holding him there. It was weird, odd, unusual, and unfamiliar. Nothing like anything he remembered, though he’d never shared a bed with anyone before, other than Steve, but that was around the time he was brought into the Avengers facility, and that was only because Steve needed it, but that was one night, because he didn’t like it.

This was different. Neither of them needed it, so this wasn’t one-sided of unwilling. It was voluntary and warm and comforting and-... was this because of the Handler thing? That he felt more at ease with this man because he was his-, _used to be_ his handler?

“Is that an order?” he could hear the amusement in his voice, like he was teasing to lighten the mood. It was sort of working since James let out a light scoff and was feeling a lot more relaxed, thought that was more of an over-time thing, since he’d been relaxing for the last few minutes.

“Yes, it’s an order,” he smiled softly while going along with it. This was a childish thing, but it was nice, in an odd way. When was the last time he felt this content? It was weird to him, unfamiliar and yet he felt satisfied by this little gesture and position he was in.

“ _Hey, Barnes! Dude, I’m sorry I crashed here last ni_ -,” the bedroom door was suddenly thrown open, no warning of knocking. It was just slammed open and the soldier was staring wide eyed up at Barton, standing shocked in the threshold with his eyes trained on Brock, who was tense while trying to control his breathing right next to him. During a second, they’d pulled apart with jack-rabbit heartbeats, trying to break through their ribs.

Clint was just standing there, his expression slowly contorting and changing until it was a dark scowl, completely directed at Rumlow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter :) Let me know what you think, be it criticism, constructive or just a simple comment :) I like talking, so be prepared for a decently sized reply xD


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8th chapter, wow. I thought this would be ending soon, but being on the 8th part and where it currently is, pretty sure it's going to go on for some time. Yaaaay!!!!!

“What the hell’s he doin’ here,” it was a growl, and it was aimed at him instead of Winter. He wasn’t at all bothered by it. He’d taken more shit from his higher ups and even then, he barely reacted. Rumlow knitted his brow in a frown and gradually got out of the bed after the soldier, but on the opposite side. This made it so he was further away from the archer. He’d have to jump the bed to get to him, and by the time he got across, Brock would be out the open window behind him.

“Clint-,” he took a quick glance at his housemate, seeing the wary and cautious expression as he inched closer and closer, arms out to show the lack of hostility. Rumlow just stayed put, glancing between the two men. Barton was completely hostile, he was glaring, scowling, his hands were clenching and unclenching over and over and it looked and felt like he was holding back, maybe for Winters’ sake. Or maybe he was holding back because he’d stopped him and the man knew that he would have his ass handed to him if he got into a fight with the former Winter Soldier.

“Barnes,” he then directed the glare at Winter, a questioning and dark look, almost accusatory. And Rumlow felt a little pissed that he’d aim that look at him, of all people. If this wasn’t such a bad time, Brock would sock ‘im one. The guy didn’t deserve a look like that. Hell, Rogers was the one who put Winter in charge of him, so why the fuck was he so shocked.

“Look, just-... I can explain-,”

“You better,” the archer snapped back, his words sharp with a dark edge. He really didn’t like that attitude. Again, he was mouthing off to the guy who could beat the ever-loving-shit outta him and Barnes wasn’t doing a damn thing, but trying to keep things calm. “What the hell’s goin’ on!” he rounded on the man and Brock huffed, his own hands clenched tight.

“How’s ‘bout you shut up so he can talk,” he barked at Barton, seeing the almost murderous look in return. Like it scared him, he’d used that expression himself, practically mastered it after becoming a commander. Hell, he scared Grant Ward with that look when the kid was his pupil after Garrett dropped him off.

“I’m not in a good mood after seein’ you, so either shut up, or I’ll drop you so hard-,”

“I’d like to see you try, pigeon,” he shot back, amusingly cutting the man off and just seeing in seethe on the spot. He couldn’t help what he said at this point. His brain-to-mouth filter wasn’t exactly working with him on this one.

“Brock, shut up!” Winter jumped in, stepping between both their sight to get their attention. He was staring at him, a disapproving look on his face and Rumlow just crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged, looking away and down as if he’d just been scolded.

“Oh, so first name-basis. You’re real pals, huh,” the archer crossed his own arms, but was in a more defensive stance, a slight dominant thing going on with his position too, like he was showing who was boss right now. He’d laugh if he knew James wouldn’t send him a death-glare. “When did that happen?-, actually… when did _this_ happen?” he shot a look to Winter, the soldier giving one back, but with more disobedience than anything else. And the way he said ‘this’ was emphasized, gesturing to him from the other side of the bed.

“... ‘bout two weeks ago,” the soldier muttered, taking a second to glance at him before turning back to the archer, seeing the disdain clear on his face. It wasn’t surprising to see that he hated every part of seeing Brock there. He did cause a lot of deaths and was even Winters’ handler, ordering him around and getting him to take the shot and stuff. He was sure that they must’ve known that he used to treat him like shit.

Though, he still thought that he would’ve known about him. Rogers would’ve told the entire team, just in case something went wrong. He didn’t really understand it.

“You’ve kept this HYDRA jackass under wraps for two weeks?” the way he said it didn’t sound surprised that he’d managed to hide this. It was more surprised like ‘why would he keep quiet about it’-... under wraps? Like ‘kept secret’?

“What’d you mean? Rogers knows I’m here,” he thought outloud, seeing the archers brows shoot right up into his hairline. This was purely shock and disbelief, maybe some ‘are you for real’ there too.

“Yeah, no. He wouldn’t let you anywhere near Barnes. If Steve knew you were here, he’d either tear you a new one or send you straight to SHIELD, which is exactly what I’m gonna do,” what the actual fuck?

Rumlow frowned and turned the expression on Winter, staring curiously and a little lost for what to say. The guy lied to him. He couldn’t exactly feel betrayed or anything, he didn’t have a right to, but he lied, to keep him there? Why? And if it _was_ to keep him there, he had no clue as to the reasoning behind it. He didn’t owe him. If anything, Brock needed to make it up to him, but that was it. And he wasn’t thinking that when he first woke up in this apartment.

The soldier was actually looking guilty, his eye level was dropped low and he looked really out of place and nervous, like he did something wrong and thought that Brock would be disappointed. He really wasn’t. He was actually impressed, and really amused, which was an odd reaction. He actually found this funny and he was sure that he would laugh it up after the archer left, or if he left, and without him.

“He’s not going to SHIELD,” Winter suddenly muttered, a deep frown growing as he stared Barton dead in the eye, catching both their attention.

“Actually, he is,” the archer said with a matter-of-fact tone and Rumlow really wanted to snap at him again. It really felt like he was being protective over the soldier, though he favoured possessive out of the two. Like he was biting at something or someone that was his. There were no strings going on here. He wanted to avoid that at all costs. Getting attached to Winter would definitely land him in front of Rogers.

He was sure that this was an act of retaliation, and he was holding back the smirk that threatened to curve into his lips. The soldier let out a huff and turned away from the archer, starting to climb around the bed until he was standing right in front of him, arms crossed and his features were masked with a flat look as he turned back around and stared Barton in the eye. Winter was basically standing there like his shield or something, keeping him to his back. He was standing pretty close. Brock could feel the heat radiating from him.

“You’re really doing the ‘you’re gonna have to go through me’ thing?” and then it hit him, from those words, and then thinking of his little inner-monologue.

… Winter was protecting him, acting as a shield so Barton wouldn’t get at him. Either he really wanted Rumlow to stay or this had something to do with the...

“Winter, you sure this ain’t anything to do with me havin’ been your handler,” Brock asked quietly, his eyes dropping to stare at his shoulder, not the metal one. If this _was_ something to do with the handler thing, then it could be dangerous. He didn’t want to be the guy that brought the soldier back, that turned him back into the Winter Soldier. He’d had enough of HYDRA and didn’t want anything to do with it again. He was done. And if he _did_ bring back the Russian Sniper, he’d get into shit for it and would have to baby-sit him again. Brock would be pulled back into then, because _that_ soldier would want to return to Pierce, or HYDRA itself. He was trained to return after a mission and that wasn’t the ideal thing. He didn’t want to take James from his current life, even if it was by accident. If he really had to admit it, he liked this soldier better than the other. Barnes over Winter. He’d still call him Winter though. It was their thing, or _he_ thought it was, anyway.

“Yeah, m’sure,” he really didn’t sound it.

“Whoa, handler?” they both looked over to the archer, seeing his angrier expression, like he was a little disgusted by what he’d heard. He was tempted to throw a Coulson comment at him. He knew it would hurt since the guy was dead, but he knew Winter would hate him for it, even if he didn’t know the guy. Or did he? He didn’t know. Did HYDRA have his file somewhere? Did they show the soldier? “You’re sayin that Rumlow used to be your handler?”

Winter actually just nodded, a shrug in his shoulders.

“He used to keep an eye on me, kept me calm and away from other agents. He fed me, washed me, gave me orders.... He was there after I was thawed out of the Cryo-tank. He’d distract me and try to warm me up after getting me out,” oh yeah, he remembered the warming up. Brock was freezing by the end of that. They tried a few different ways to warm him up, but eventually he just gave up and tried sharing body heat. It was weird and too close for him, too intimate, but he got over it. The sharing heat worked better than anything else, so he just went with it every time Winter got out of the thawing. He’d strip from most of his gear, half naked at that point and hold the soldier close, a hot blanket wrapped around the guys back and shoulders and Brock would be chest-to-chest with him, trying to warm him up.

Rumlow swallowed at that and quietly cleared his throat, now feeling uncomfortable after thinking about it. He never liked how cold the soldier used to be afterwards, it was deathly freezing and he was just waiting for him to keel over one day, having been taken out too late. He was in Cryo longer than usual and he froze over thicker because of the increased length of time.

It was seriously like seeing a caveman mid-freeze in some museum. But with a high-tech arm, was a lot less hairy, and had a body and face that could’ve been carved by the sex gods...

He wasn’t going to breathe a word of that last comment...

“So, basically, he cared for you,” he heard Barton speak up, still seeming pretty edgy and dark against Rumlow, but he was a smidge calmer than before. They were having a conversation and he was actually listening. There was a bit of a sad tone there too, probably loss, since Coulson used to be his handler.

“Yeah,” Winter replied, almost too confidently for him. Obviously he’d see it as caring if he was compared to the other handlers who couldn’t handle the Winter Soldier. They treated him like shit on their shoe. They never warmed him up after Cryo, barely washed him and fed him. Pierce and the guy before him went through agents like copy paper, just trying to find a good enough agent that would treat him like the brainwashed soldier he was, and make sure he was healthy and fit. When they came across Rumlow and gave him his first round with Winter, they liked how he handled him, even if he was a grunt at the time. He wasn’t STRIKE when they met him.

Brock was brought in, tossed into the communal shower room, where the soldier was sitting in full gear, expressionless, emotionless and looking tired, but he didn’t complain. He took it upon himself to get the guy clean, tried sounding at least authoritative to get him to strip and get under the water. He was naive at the start, wary, but after years of getting him out of cryo and washing, he grew to know how to handle him, and sometimes, right after waking up, the soldier recognized him. He was a constant in his life after he was first brought in. Pierce was happy with how he worked with Winter and just let him get on with it, while Rumlow grew through the ranks of HYDRA _and_ SHIELD.

This is exactly why he was thinking that Winter was protecting him, because he’d been there through the majority of his seventy years as a mindless fist of HYDRA. He was actually a little afraid that he _really did still_ see him as his handler. He didn’t want that. James Barnes was his own man again and he was _maybe_ still stuck on the fact that Brock was the guy that looked after him.

“Do _you_ see it that way?” he eyed the archer, going over the question in his head. ‘Cared for’ wasn’t the word he’d use. And there wasn’t any point in lying about what he’d done. He’d already said he’d try and make it up to the soldier.

“I wouldn’t say I _cared for_ him. Yeah, I treated him better than any of his other handlers, but I should’ve treated him better than that,” he spoke honestly, looking away from the archer to Winter and seeing him stare, almost softly at him. His expression was like an open book. There was a bit of sadness, a tiny bit of hope and he swore he saw some admiration there, but only for a few seconds. He really didn’t want him to look at _him_ , of all people, like that. He didn’t deserve it. If anything, he deserved the look Barton gave him when he first walked in on them.

“So, you’re admitting to-,”

“Being a former HYDRA agent and treating an old, brainwashed war soldier like shit? Yeah,” he cut Barton off, seeing the irritation coursing through him because of it.

“Former? What, HYDRA abandon you?” the archer smirked, a little smug curve in his lips as if to say that he was tossed aside after DC.

“Nah, actually, they got into contact with me while I was in the burn-ward. Said after I was healed, they had a mission for me. Shut them down before they could give me any intel on what they wanted done,” Rumlow crossed his arms again, feeling a little more relaxed about getting this HYDRA shit over with. “Couldn’t give a rats ass about ‘em, anymore. S’actually the reason I’m here,” he huffed.

“What’d you mean?” Barton frowned, knitting his brow as he gestured with his head to continue. And he decided he’d say. Winter deserved an explanation at this point. Two weeks in and he hadn’t said a word about how he’d ended up there in that kind of state.

“HYDRA came after me, or a few of the guys that were in STRIKE with me. Tried to kill me and booked it. Not long after, Winter found me,” he shrugged. There were details missing from the sentence, but they were more of his doing. He’d managed to kill one guy and almost kill another, but he didn’t want them to know that. It wasn’t something he was too proud of, since the team used to be like brothers to him. He loved ‘em like family and they turned on him. It hurt, but he’d get over it.

“Hang on a sec, question… Winter?” the Avenger was confused now, clear as shit on his face. He was confused and curious about why he kept saying Winter.

“S’what he calls me,” the soldier at his side chirped in, answering for him and the archer rounded an even more confused look at him. And this was when Rumlow decided to explain. And he had his reason, very understandable ones.

“Winter, as in Winter Soldier. I wouldn’t call him James Barnes or Bucky ‘cause he wasn’t supposed to know and there was no way in hell I was gonna call him ‘Asset’, like every other HYDRA fuck,” were they actually having a normal conversation at this point? Barton didn’t seem as on guard or as murderous as before, didn’t seem like he would attack him. Everything was tense, but they were a lot calmer than when he walked through the door.

“Don’t know about you, but that sounds to me like you were treatin’ him alright as his handler,” the former agent knitted his brows, not really getting what he meant by that. And that seemed to spur him into explaining. “You gave him a nickname, made him seem more human. I doubt anyone else did that for the _Winter Soldier_ ,” ah… putting it like that and emphasizing just _who_ he gave a nickname to actually made a lot more sense at what his point was. It’d be the equivalent of naming a blood thirsty _Great White Shark,_ Snookums or Princess.

“You _helped_ a lot more than you damaged,” Brock and Barton both turned to look at Winter, Rumlows’ eyes going wide after registering his words. He really didn’t believe that. All the shit he forced on the soldier and all the crap he made him do and here he was, telling him that he helped him… Rumlow was a piece of shit, always would be after he became Winters’ handler.

“Rumlow,” he hesitantly glanced back over to the archer, seeing the seriousness on his face. “A word. You! Stay!” he then pointed at Winter and he almost laughed when he let out a scoff and got closer to him, their shoulders brushing when he almost leaned against him. “... or not, fine, whatever,” he shrugged, quickly taking the order back. Clearly, Winter didn’t like to be ordered around.

“Listen,” the man caught his attention again, staring seriously at him _and_ Barnes since he wouldn’t leave them or let them have a quiet word. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want anyone in on this, yeah? Steve? Tony? Even Nat?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know. I wasn’t gonna tell anyone unless it got serious,” he was curious as to what he considered ‘serious’, but his thoughts were on the confirmation that no one knew he was there, not even Rogers. It was surprising, but amusing at the same time. He was getting the impression that Winter trusted _him_ more than his captain or the rest of the team.

If that were the case… then he was more than a little honoured to have the soldiers’ trust, after everything he’d done. He really didn’t deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed and please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Suggestions and criticism is very welcomed and I like hearing what part was your favourite. From this chapter, my favourite was Brock having an inner-monologue about warming the Winter Soldier up after Cryo, I just like the thought of them sharing body heat to warm up :) 
> 
> Let me know what your favourite part was. I like talking to you guys. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More than sure that there'll be mistakes in this chapter, because I wrote it while I was staying up my sisters. I guarantee that the ones I write while there will have mistakes 'cause it's hard to write when you have a 2 year old screaming their little lungs off in the same room xD 
> 
> So, apologies if there are any fuck-ups, but please let me know if you see one and I'll right the wrong as soon as I can :)

“I don’t like it,” James let a quiet, controlled huff leave his lungs at Bartons’ statement. He’d said almost the exact same thing for the passed few hours of morning _and_ a few hours into the early afternoon while they watched movies, on Clint's insistence. He and Brock didn’t go back to sleep after that, the whole ‘Clint walking in on them’ sort of put them off of the idea of sleeping together again… _napping_ together, he meant. Not sleeping as in... And, it was odd to say, but it felt like he walked in on something special that was only between the former agent and him. Whatever they did, it was theirs, something he was only letting Rumlow do. And if he thought hard enough on it, he realised that it _was_ something on the verge of _special_.

He didn’t mind so much when people touched him now, a brush as they stepped passed, a pat on the back from Stark, Thor and Barton, a hug from Steve or Natasha. If it was the people closest to him, he didn’t really care, but he and Rumlow… the only thing that made them close was the fact that he used to watch him, handle him. He wasn’t sure, but maybe all those times that the man actually touched him during his Winter Soldier years, maybe they were ingrained in him now, carved into him, and that was why he wasn’t as bothered about it as he should’ve been.

They practically cuddled, sharing a bed with less than ‘no space’ between them. Brock held him like a man would his relationship partner, and it almost scared him that he’d let him do it, even felt the faint urge to get closer. He’d _liked_ it.

“You keep complaining and I’ll give you somethin’ else you _really_ won’t like,” the former agent muttered deeply as a retort.

And speaking of ‘like’. Barton had actually gestured towards their issue. The fact that James wouldn’t let him take Rumlow away to SHIELD and wouldn’t let him tell the other Avengers. He’d managed to blackmail him, which wasn’t a great idea, but he needed to keep the man there, safe and away from anyone that could hurt him. SHIELD was still after him, HYDRA was still after him. They were keeping their screens on, just encase they caught a glimpse of the man and then they’d move in for retrieval.

And, James had lied before, when they were in the bedroom and Brock had asked about his motivation behind the sudden protection. There were a few reasons behind it, but one of the bigger ones, was because the man had been his carer. _Handler_. The one word meant so much to him. It was Brock who changed the meaning after being assigned to him. He changed it for the better. It used to bring fear and darkness to his thoughts, thinking on what was inevitably coming his way when one of his old handlers was on their way.

Bruises, insults, constant abuse, cold shoulders, yelling, hate and withheld tears.

And then years later. Agent Brock Rumlow became his handler, and at first, he’d been expecting more of the same treatment. The dark fear grew when he caught the chatter of his new superior heading to the base to be assigned as his handler. He masked his features, his feelings, his entire being, until he seemed like nothing more than a mindless and opinionless doll.

And when he finally met him… confusion and curiosity began balancing out the fear, tipping it until a majority of what he was feeling was relief, order, a portion of calm. He rarely ever hurt him, and if he did, it was usually because he _did_ actually do something wrong, something he deserved a slap for. Though not a heavy one, more like a slap at the back of the skull.

There were no beatings, no bruises, no abuse or yelling, no hate, tears or cold shoulder. There were barely any insults, the occasional idiot and basterd were passed around, but there was a slight fondness in his tone whenever he’d called him by the names. He’d liked it. He’d almost smiled.

But he did actually smile when the praises came, a smirk and a timid pat on the shoulder with the words ‘ _good job_ ’ came first. And as their time together grew, the man became more confident with him. Harder pats, wider smirk, more encouraging words, ‘ _You did good, kid_ ,’ ‘ _Damn, nice shot_ ,’ ‘ _Keep it up, big guy_ ,’ A few times, the pats switched between his shoulders and rear. And the names, the pet names. Brock gave him a nickname… He’d actually began calling him Winter after a while, seeming to have wanted to call him something other than Asset, like everyone else. It made him _feel_. It made him realise that this man was different. He hadn’t just been a HYDRA agent, not just his _handler_ … but his _carer_.

Though it all seemed to slow down after Rumlow was called in by Pierce. Only a few days later, the man returned, still his handler, but told him that he had to ease up on the praises and names, that he couldn’t do as much in the field or in public. He was reprimanded, the soldier easily deduced and he’d instantly blamed himself for it. The man was chastised for encouraging and praising him because it brought out a side of him that was human, it made him feel and HYDRA never wanted that, could afford to risk everything because the weapon felt emotions and felt human.

Rumlow eased up with the praises, the encouragement. Though he still called him Winter and gave the occasional pat and praise, they were rare. But the man still stayed with him, treating him better than any other agent had. He was more than thankful to Brock.

“Yo, Winter,” James blinked a few times, faintly stunned by the clicking of fingers right in his face. His breath caught and he shot his gaze to the man in question, watching the frown and concerned expression dull slightly. “Christ, where the hell you been,” he questioned rhetorically, still staring at him from his seat right next to him. It had been James who’d joined him there, wanting to sit between him and Barton if something were to start or if the archer wanted to take Brock in. He was sitting there out of protection.

“Sorry, spaced out,” he knitted his brow, glancing over the former agents features as they contorted until there was a faint curve in his lips, a smirk appearing.

“Seriously? During Spaceballs?” Rumlows’ eyebrows rose high, like this was a shock or something. It shouldn’t have surprised him, this entire movie went right over his head. He was aware that it was a Star Wars spoof, and he understood the jokes and puns, it just didn’t hold his interest.

“How dare you, Robocop!” Brock actually let out a little chuckle to that, seeming to get the reference. James still didn’t get it, but he was sure that if he said anything he’d be forced to watch that movie too.

“You’re both idiots,” he sighed, relaxing back into the sofa and feeling Brocks arm against the back of his neck, stretched out behind him on the back of the long seat.

“Actually, he’s an asshole,” Clint pointed out to Rumlow, who let out a light chuckle.

“That’s Major Asshole, Asshole,” oh god... Were they really… James groaned and dropped his head back. They’d been quoting the damn movie. Hadn’t Rumlow watched this recently? He wasn’t sure.

… when in Rome...

“I knew it, I’m surrounded by assholes,” the soldier muttered, his head still dropped against a warm arm on the back of his neck and the base of his skull. He instantly heard the loud barks of laughter from Brock _and_ Barton, the two seeming to gradually get along as the movies progressed, even with the archer occasionally complaining about the former HYDRA agent and handler of the former Winter Soldier staying in the same room.

James let a small smile grace his lips and lifted his head just a little to continue watching the movie, only he tilted it and rested his temple against Brocks shoulder. He’d just done it, without thinking or feeling the self-consciousness of it. It was a casual action and Rumlow didn’t seem at all bothered by it. If anything, he just seemed to shift to lesson the space between them, moving his arm from the back of the sofa and letting it drop around James’ shoulder and rest there. It was oddly comfortable and almost intimate again.

Almost, because Barton was there, keeping an eye on them. If he hadn’t been there, he was sure that it’d be more than intimate, like earlier that morning.

\----------

They’d stayed like that for some time, watching tv in peace with Barton in the recliner chair, all three engrossed in another movie. He’d felt the glances from the archer, the man seeming to still be on guard and keeping his senses sharp, even when Brock seemed completely dead to the world and was staring at the screen with blue aliens running around. He seemed to enjoy Avatar a lot more than any other movie that had been on so far. He wasn’t sure why. Though it did give him a chance to get a little more comfortable against his side without the other man seeming to notice, or if he did, nothing was said.

“I think I’ll just…” he turned to glance at the archer, seeing him push up from the seat and shake himself before grabbing his jacket. “Feed your cat and go,” he smirked, forcing it to his lips. “I won’t tell anyone what’s goin’ on, but… I advise that you let Steve know eventually,” he continued as he slipped into the coat and walked over to the cat bowl, where Dugan instantly appeared after walking through the door of his bedroom. Had he been there all day? He hadn’t seen him since the night before, after Barton showed up. “Doubt he’d rather find out by just walking into your apartment. And you know he has a key, just in case,” he never actually thought about that… shit.

“Hate to say it, but I agree with the Pigeon,” Brock suddenly spoke up, and James ignored the frustrated ‘ _Hawkeye-_ ’ that left Barton as he filled the food bowl. “Don’t like the idea, but m’pretty sure Rogers ain’t gonna recover from seein’ me hangin’ around in your space half naked,” he gestured to himself. He’d borrowed one of his shirts after the archer interrupted them… _interrupted_? Odd choice of words.

They _did_ have a point, Steve really wouldn’t act the same around him if they were seen together and especially in James’ apartment. He’d instantly break out into a frenzy and try to cuff Brock and take him to SHIELD, and even after that, he’d probably treat the soldier he was when they first brought him back. The lack of communication and guarded up walls would come back and it’d be like there was no progress between them. They’d be strangers again and he didn’t want that… but he also didn’t want to lose Brock at this point.

“I’ll talk to him… but not yet,” he replied to them roughly, his voice quiet but deep, and very gravelly. He could already imagine the reaction, and he wasn’t too fond of the thought. There wasn’t any risk of damaging their relationship, because it _would_ be damaged nonetheless, it’d be a given as soon as he made a day to hang out with the other super-soldier.

“Don’t take too long. Nat’s gonna find out soon enough, now that I know,” that wasn’t a very reassuring thought, though Romanov would at least listen to him before attempting to take Brock down. There’d be decision making before taking action. “I’ll come by tomorrow with takeout,” there was also a quick ‘ _cya_ ’ along with the _keeping an eye on you_ ’ gesture towards Brock, but then the door closed with Barton now on the other side, leaving James and Rumlow sitting on the sofa, hugged up against each other, or more James cuddling Brock than anything.

“Think I’m startin’ to win him over,” the soldier took a quick glance up at him with a scoff before getting comfortable again and leaning into Brocks side, staring at the tv again as Avatar was still playing. “And you’re starting to grow on me… literally,” at that James almost flustered, and it took everything to try and stay completely composed. But he could feel a bit of heat rising to his face and he couldn’t help but duck his head, directing it down and out of the former agents’ view. He hadn’t realised he’d been that clingy with him. All through the time they were sitting on the sofa with Barton there, he’d been hugged into his side, his head on his shoulder and everything. What the hell must that have looked like?

“Hey, don’t freak, Winter,” he didn’t like the Brock seemed to know what he was doing and what he was feeling just by body language, though it wasn’t that surprising. He was observant, and he was sure that Rumlow had to pick up his mannerisms over their years spent together. He’d had to have learned his every move after becoming his handler. “Hey,” Brock patted his chest, his arm still braced around his shoulder.

James reluctantly turned his head and tilted it up a few inches to look up at him through his lashes and bangs. He hated that he was suddenly timid about all this. He’d never been like that before. This was a first.

He watched him, eyeing him warily. And he saw the unbothered expression, soft and tired from lack of sleep early that morning. The soldier couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but whatever it was seemed to amuse him, because a faint smile started curling the corners of his lips upwards and it was odd to see on his face. Normally the man was just stoic and calm. He saw the occasional smirk or smug grin, but never a smile, a genuine one anyway.

“What?” he asked quietly, his gaze flickering between Brocks eyes, back and forth. He didn’t get why he was smiling, but he wasn’t complaining. It was a… nice smile.

He didn’t say anything, no words replying to him, and he was the one that said ‘hey’ as if he were about to talk or ask him something. He was really confusing him. Brock just turned back to the screen and shifted further down the sofa, propping his legs up onto the coffee table and bring James down with him, practically lying on him, head to his chest and he was bent awkwardly along the couch, his legs still hanging over the edge of the couch. So he lifted them, until he was lying over the cushions with his socked feet up against the arm of the chair. His head was resting further along Rumlows chest and he gradually brought his hand up, letting his relax on the hard abdomen.

The warm arm was still around his shoulders, an almost comforting weight on the very top of his back. But he was thinking that this wasn’t a normal contact for handler and handle-y. He wasn’t stupid, this was a close relationship type of thing. A man holding a partner close. And back in the day, he remembered doing this with women on the way to and from dances and festivals and maybe bars and diners, but this… this was Brock Rumlow. It wasn’t as if he were saying that man couldn’t be gentle or a gentleman or couldn’t be a man that cuddled. It was just odd considering their history. And he’d never really known him for doing any of this apart from keeping him warm after Cryo, but that was under orders, even if he didn’t seem to mind it that much.

Maybe Brock had meant more when he said that ‘ _he was growing on him_ ’...

James wasn’t hoping or anything, but what if there was something more going on in the former agents head. They seemed considerably closer than when he first arrived, so maybe they were easing into each other as friends instead of acquaintances. Barton had called them pals before, when he first saw Rumlow there, maybe they were at this point.

Friends, pals, buddies. Though friends didn’t _‘cuddle’_ like this. Or maybe it was Brocks’ way of showing that he’d warmed up to him, feeling safe and confident enough that he’d allow physical contact. It’d taken James much longer to get to this point with Steve, though Rumlow hadn’t been through what _he’d_ been through, so contact wouldn’t seem that strenuous to him.

James opened his mouth for a sudden yawn and stiffened, his body going rigid as it lasted a few seconds. He instantly relaxed against his human pillow and tiredly watched the tv, the fight between human's and blue aliens commencing. He only took little notice in Brocks’ arm moving, shifting and gently stroking his shoulder and bicep with his thumb. It was relaxing and he could gradually feel his tiredness taking over, his eyes slowly getting heavier until he was falling asleep with his head lifting and falling with the former agents breathing. It was practically putting him to sleep.

James let out a soft groan through his closed lips and closed his eyes completely, letting his breathing ease up until he felt too heavy. As he was passing out he could hear the light chuckle leave the other man, deep yet melodic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter :) Some cuddles and snuggles for you. 
> 
> What was your favourite part in this one? I took a huge freaking fondness to Rumlow and James cuddling at the end :) And Brock and Clint quoting Spaceballs xD 
> 
> Let me know what you thought and what you liked in this one :) I really enjoy talking in the comments to you guys, it's fun :)
> 
> Oh, and I added this to a series, "The Winter Soldiers' Whim" because I have ideas for a sequel, 'tree'quel and a 'fourth'quel xD So, in short, this is an on-going piece of with multiple stories that will be related. There'll also be a prequel at some point, from when Brock was James' handler back in HYDRA.
> 
> So, if you have any questions about this story or the related ones that'll be posted afterwards, let mew know, I'll gladly give you updates :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took this long, seriously. I've had to stay up my sisters for the last week and she has no internet at the moment. But, thankfully, sort of, It's changed so I'm only staying up there once a week. 
> 
> She's been arguing with me, questioning everything I say, including my grammar and English, when mine is actually better than hers because of the fact that I constantly write 24/7, and correcting me to the point that I'm actually snapping back at her, so I'm staying up there a lot less to get away from her. I've really had enough of her at this point...
> 
> But you're not here to hear me vent out on sister/brother(Me) sibling arguments. You're here for the story :) So here it is. Hopefully I can get another one up fast to make up for the lack of chapters over this week.

He didn’t get it-, well, he did, just-... He didn’t get why this had happened or when it had began or when it would end or whatever. It was mindfucking him so bad at this point that he didn’t want to look at Winter. Brock had actually started to hate himself for letting it go this far. And he was gradually having enough of it, to the point that he’d been huffing to himself.

“Did you even _read_ the manual?” he commented off hand, seeing the irritated twitch out of the corner of his eye. Clearly, this was pissing them both off, and his little comment just added onto it.

“I looked at it,” James muttered back with a faint bite in his tone, seeming to want to try and concentrate on this damn thing they were putting together. Wasn’t putting Ikea furniture together supposed to be an easy job? This was supposed to be a damn wardrobe and it was starting to look like a plant of wood was in the middle of an orgy. Angles everywhere and stuck in odd places. Seriously...

“You _glanced_ at it and threw it in my general direction,” Brock rephrased for him, his arms crossed over his almost completely outwardly healed chest, while he leaned back against the flowery old sofa that belonged to the apartment a few doors down, another old lady living there. And Gloria was there, having been the one that volunteered Winter for the job of furniture builder, and in-turn, she’d asked Brock to join in, for a faster job. Though James instantly took charge and started, telling the former soldier to just sit back and do whatever while he fixed it up. Apparently, teamwork wasn’t his thing.

“Because it wasn’t the right one,” he shot back, frowning at two different pieces. He might’ve looked through the manual, but not the right one. They’d sent the wrong piece of paper out with the wardrobe. Brock didn’t know how it worked back in the day, but people that worked in furniture stores these days were idiots with a piece of paper saying they work there.

Rumlow eventually just sighed, hearing the old ladies muttering behind him on the sofa, facing the two from a few feet away. They were watching, giggling and the older lady actually made a comment about his ass, which he inwardly smirked at. Gloria instantly mentioned that he and Winter were together though, a lovely pair that shared the apartment a few doors up. And then the giggly chatter came in.

“A’right, I give,” he huffed, pushing himself from the back of the chair and moving closer to where Winter was trying to get two pieces of planked wood together. “Move that gorgeous ass over,” he gently slapped his lounge-pants clad ass as he crouched down close next to him, brushing his entire side against Winter until he reluctantly shifted to give him space. He’d heard the amused gasp and giddy chuckle from the women, but ignored them in favour of catching the soldiers’ quickly composed stun at his words.

He was taking advantage of the ‘fake relationship’ at this point, he knew it. Though it wasn’t really a fake one, or a relationship. They just pretended because there was a half naked man strolling around James Barnes’ apartment for a majority of the day, who wasn’t James Barnes himself. So, pretending was a given while he was there. It was practically needed after Gloria first saw him and assumed they were dating. But yeah, he was taking advantage and acting like an overly flirtatious and physically sexual boyfriend.

Brock glanced down at the laid out piece and reached for the closest one to him, the side that fitted to the bottom piece that Winter was currently placing down in the little space between them. The former agent shifted his position a little, turning more towards the other man and the wood and then slotted the two pieces together, reaching down to grabbed at a few screws and the extra screwdriver before shoving one in and then turning it, doing the same with the other two while James did the same on the other side.

Once that part was sturdy enough to let go, they took a little time to pull apart whatever the hell happened with the other pieces. They then spread them out as Brock saw them, Winter seeming to trust that he knew what he was doing. And he did. He knew how to build a freaking wardrobe. He was a little curious on how the soldier didn’t though. He had an entire apartment filled with furniture that looked like most of it was from IKEA, so either someone else done it all, probably Rogers, or he’d done it and hadn’t realized. But right now, it was like watching a kid trying to imitate a role model, watching what he was doing to copy and to make sure he did it right. And he gladly pronounced his moves openly for the other man, letting him see exactly what he was doing and where he was putting the screws and little wooden splints to build the damn tall box with shelves.

\----------

Brock downed the last of his third coffee, swallowing the mouthful before carefully putting the china cup down and waving a quick ‘thanks’ over to Gloria.

They were almost done with the furniture, just the top and a shelf to go. They were doing the shelves to make sure that they fitted properly before putting the top on, which was Winters’ idea. He stepped back over to the soldier and the wooden wardrobe before checking over said shelves, giving the okay and then lifting the first one and slotting it into the empty space. To be honest, he should’ve let his roomie pick it up, because he’d instantly felt his muscles strain and ache just trying to move around and he was feeling just a little off, almost dizzy, disoriented maybe, but he wasn’t a guy to complain. Even if he had a limb falling off, he’d probably keep the pain to himself. He was just that stubborn.

"It's done," Winter pulled him back from his thoughts, catching his attention and he took a quick glance over at him before turning back to the wooden wardrobe, staring at it while the old ladies took their time to head over, gossiping as they went.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” he hadn’t gotten her name if it was said, so he’d just refer to her as ‘old lady’. She stepped over, her old, shaky hands reaching out to gently run over a few inches, a smile on her face. “Thank you, boys,”

“Not a problem, ma’am,” Brock gave a lazy salute before casually and almost lazily turning around and crouching down to pack up the tools. He’d slackly and dizzily crawled and stretched out to grab a few on Winters’ side of the area, even grabbing the rubbish and plastic packaging it came in and piling it next to the small duffle full of tools. He could drop it in the recycling next to the front door of the old lady's apartment.

“Do stay for another cup of coffee,” Gloria smiled sweetly, seeming to aim it at him more than James and he had to force a smile onto his own, to cover the suddenly suspicious feeling crawling into his gut. It was sitting there and he could feel it wavering at her ‘too nice attitude’. It felt like it was put on to him, like many of the undercover suits he used to play before becoming a STRIKE member.

“No, no, we got a few things to do back in our place,” he gestured towards the door as an excuse and saw the almost unnoticeable knit in the soldiers brow as he watched him questioningly. “Cleaning up’s a good idea. Yeah, Jay?” he urged with his eyes, turning to look at the man in question. He saw the faint, slow nod turn into something a lot more believable and a smile slipped into his features.

“Yeah, sorry,” Winter said before stepping over and grabbing the duffle bag from his side, keeping the smile up as he turned and gradually walked away. Rumlow did the same after grabbing a handful of the recyclables and tossed them next to the bin at the door, closing it behind him before making his way up the hall after the soldier. He eventually caught up just as the other man opened their door and stepped in. The bag was dropped just behind it on the inside and Brock quickly closed it behind him and unintentionally grabbed Winter by his metal arm, pulling him back until Rumlow could pin him to the wall and lean in completely closer than he should. Their bodies were completely aligned and he was mere millimeters from his ear, his hot breath gently shifting a little of his hair.

“ _Bugs_ ,” he whispered so quietly he was afraid that Winter wouldn’t hear, and then he reached his index finger to his ear and tapped the area where a listening device would go. He saw the brow knit deeply, a mild confusion coming over the soldier and he tapped his ear again and then gestured to the room. And _then_ the realization seemed to hit him as to what he’d meant, and his shoulders stiffened under him.

“Don’t know ‘bout you, but I could really do with a beer and some sleep,” Brock mentioned as he almost reluctantly pulled away from the warm body he’d pinned to the wall. He stepped further into the room and gestured to it again, moving to a corner of the room to check for bugs or anything remotely like them. He had a serious itch he needed scratching after Gloria offered more coffee. He couldn’t shake this feeling.

“I’d offer you some, but I don’t have any since it doesn’t affect me,” Winter muttered flatly as he moved gracefully around the room, doing the exact same and following his actions. He didn’t like the fact that he just put the soldier on edge again after a few years, but if there were bugs here, or listening devices, then the guy had been watched, and if it was HYDRA, then it was only a matter of time before they managed to pin him and revert him. And Rumlow had just made it worse by showing up. He might’ve just drawn in more operatives on the man and it’d be his fault for getting him caught if that had been the case.

If his feeling was confirmed, talking to the Cap would be the best option at that point. Being tagged by HYDRA wasn’t an ideal thing, especially if the person being watched was a certain _Winter Soldier_.

If James wouldn’t talk to the man yet, Brock would have to.

“Might need your phone to ask Barton to pick up booze on the way over,” he wouldn’t ask what did affect him, for obvious reasons. If there _were_ bugs, then Winter would just be handing his weaknesses out on a golden fucking platter. And that wouldn’t happen on his watch, or he hoped it wouldn't. He didn’t want to see Winter back in the chair or in Cryofreeze again. It was too haunting, for both him and the Soldier.

“Want me to text or call him?” he could hear the subtle hint in his tone, a hint that James was on edge and wanted a third pair of eyes on this. It was just in that moment that he saw this little black object in the wall, just behind the curtain at the top of the wall.

Brock took a glance over and saw that the soldier had paused to watch him, waiting for the answer with masked features, hiding what he was actually feeling. He took a breath and nodded slowly and stiffly, his entire being was back in his agent stature, like an automatic switch flipped itself by just seeing the listening device.

“That’d be awesome,” he let a dark, silent sigh slip his lips and he stepped away from the wall, gesturing to Winter to come over by waving his hand. He also made a sign to pass his cellphone over, his hand held out, waiting. And as soon as he gave it to him, once he was close, Rumlow took off the back and messed around with, not finding any bugs in the Stark tech phone. He instantly put it back together. “Or… do you wanna go to a bar? Can invite Pigeon along,” he started typing in one of the memo pads, tapping away at the touchscreen keyboard.

“HYDRA or SHIELD will recognize you. It’s an obvious reason as to why I don’t want you leaving the apartment,” Winter put on the sigh, like it was a question he’d had enough of answering, when in reality, Rumlow had never asked the question because it did, indeed, have an obvious answer. Brock tilted the phone his way, letting the soldier see what he’d written on the screen.

“I’ll wear a hoodie or a hat, or maybe both,” Winter turned his gaze to his face, a sour look gradually slipping over his face and he would’ve laughed if this wasn’t a serious situation. ‘ _Go talk to Rogers, text Barton to meet me here_ ’. The phone was swiftly taken from him and then it was being typed into. He’d be surprised if there weren’t dents forming on the keypad from how frantically it was being tapped.

“Like that’s not suspicious,” the soldier replied, still typing for a few seconds before passing the phone back over. ‘ _I’m not leaving you here. You’re coming with me,_ ’. Rumlow started typing up a reply, his brain working fast to come up with a plan and how to execute it. But it involved a not so nice meeting with the Captain.

“You could invite Rogers too, if you want,” then Winter huffed, shaking his head like he was really exasperated by all of this, and he didn’t blame the guy. He was still being watched by HYDRA, even years later. “Talk to him about me being here before meeting me and Barton at the bar,” he suggested, turning the phone back towards him. ‘ _Rogers won’t think twice about taking me down as soon as he sees us together. You need to talk to him. Barton’ll be here in no time if you text him now_ ’. He emphasized the text by giving the soldier one of his most serious expression, his brow knitted and pointed in the centre and his entire body was tense at this point. And he knew that Winter could feel and see this and his only response was a glare, a defiant scowl aimed directly at him.

“He’s really not gonna like it,” this was an answer to both now, and the scowl stayed, even when his resolve wavered from Brocks’ authoritative stance and posture. He hated that he’d just basically took advantage of his old handler ways, but, this wasn’t something that could wait. Who cared if Rogers liked this or not? This was about Winter and keeping him safe.

“Obviously, but letting him know sooner is a lot better than later,” he replied easily, his body forcing itself to ease up as the soldier begrudgingly turned away and headed over to the tv, crouching down to reach under the table. He watched with curious eyes until he got back up and headed back over, another phone in hand and then he realized that it was his. He messed with it for a moment before handing it back over, screen turned on with a number already typed into the call screen. Winter then handed it over, watching him intently.

“Alright, fine,” it was the soldiers’ number, maybe? He looked from his face to the hand that reached up, the metal one moving to pressed against where Brocks’ heart was. He remembered this, and so did the soldier. Rumlow did this whenever Winter was in a bad mood or a sad one back in their HYDRA days. It was one of the reasons Pierce told him to back off a bit.

Rumlow used to rest a hand on the area where his heart was and tell him that he could feel it beating. It showed that he wasn’t just some weapon or Asset. He was a person. He was human. It was their thing whenever the other would be in one of their shittest moods. Feeling the beat made everything feel like a weight was lifted. It helped the soldier through their time together and it usually brought him back.

“I’ll call Clint on the way. Meet you at the Rowlo-Inn,” his fingers tapped there for a second and he pulled back, giving him a long glance as he made his way to the door and grabbed his jacket, keys and wallet on the way out. As soon as the door closed he stared back at his phone, instantly saving the number under ‘Winter’ and then he started typing.

‘ _I_ _’ll give you a rough number on how many I find_ ,’ he sent the message and pocketed the phone, glancing around before taking a step in a random direction of the room. Only a few paces and he heard movement, outside of the apartment at the front door. There was a quick knock and just like every knock he’d heard from the same person. Gloria.

He took a quiet breath and hesitated, swallowing thickly as he headed towards the door. He didn’t have a gun, no weapons, since Winter hid them from him when he first got there, just in case. He reached for the handle and opened it, casually like he was just answering the door to any normal person. He gave a smile.

“Oh, Brock. Hello, is James in?” she smiled sweetly back, now actually showing that she was putting it on. She fucking knew he wasn’t.

“No, actually. He just went out to-,” he snapped to a stop, feeling a dart pierce his chest. He shakily looked down, a hand almost vibrating as he reached it up and pulled it from his upper torso. An empty vial sat at the end of it and he looked back up, seeing a tall man next to her, a smile on his damn face, a damn familiar, he should’ve said.

“Hey Rumlow,” fucking Ward… Grant Ward.

His breath left him as he fell back, his head spinning and blurring and he was feeling nauseous as he hit the ground, his back slamming down against the carpet. He panted, trying to get air in, until he saw black clouding his vision and footsteps walk around him.

“Been looking for you, Commander,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that I didn't throw you off wanting to read more of this because of the week without RumBuck. Again, I'm really sorry, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
> And like always, I ask what your favourite part was :) I really like hearing what you thought and what you liked the most :) 
> 
> For me, I'd have to say the conversation going back and forth while they wrote to each other while searching for the bugs in the apartment :) They were working in perfect sync and coming up with a good conversation while also, trying to get a plan going. Oh, and the hand on the heart nostalgia. It was sweet and it showed that James really did remember another good thing while being under HYDRAs shitty influence :D 
> 
> Please let me know what you liked :) I love hearing about it :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's like... 200 words longer that usual. So it's about 3.300-3.400. By the time I was near the end, I knew I needed to add something, but I completely forgot until I hit 3.100 xD
> 
> I'm happy I uploaded this today, 'cause that means that I can get on with the next one tomorrow, while I'm up my sisters with no internet. I'm still on and off with her, but we're adults, so I have to get over it -_- responsibility and all that shtick. Whatever, it's fine. Just have to be mature and stuff. Though I'm pretty sure that I'll be stuck in the next part to this story so I'll be ignorant to the world until it's done xD And no one would say anything about it because it's my normal thing.
> 
> Anyway, again. You're here for the story, not my life!! Here's the 11th chapter, and still going!!! This'll probably reach into the later teens, maybe. I still have a few ideas for the next few chapters, so it may very well reach up to 20 chapters. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

James stared at his phone as he strode quickly down the street, his phone in hand with the screen showing an image of Steve with the folder sign and dial sign. He had to tell him, had to get him to meet up right now, but he was so damn scared that this would set back everything. All the progress they earned by helping him out and this would definitely end badly if he said the wrong thing. Though, there was no ‘if’ about this situation. It was bad. He was housing a known HYDRA agent in his own home, and for about two weeks and a few days? Give or take? And said HYDRA agent was his handler, the man that had to look after him, keep him in check and stuff. Steve wouldn’t like this at all.

But… at the start, this was only meant to be a way to show them that he could handle it himself. That he could handle _himself_ in that situation. It was only meant to be a way to prove himself, and he doubted that that was what happened over the last two weeks. If anything, he’d grown too fond of the man’s’ presence. He liked having him around and he actually didn’t know if it was because of the previous HYDRA relationship, the handler and handle-y thing, or if it was because they got on well living together. He liked him being around. He was relaxing to be with, just sitting on the couch or in bed with a TV on and in the mornings when they’d wake up and he was being spoon from behind. He was… dare he say, _content_ , in a way. But, out of everything… he was there, he understood him because he was with him twenty-four/seven. From his HYDRA days, to now, in his apartment. He understood him better than anyone else at this point. He knew what made him tick, what triggered him and he’d even tried keeping him away from those particular things. He brought him out of panics and voluntarily helped him out.

He liked him too much to just let Steve take him away to SHIELD. He had his case and he was going to try and make him see from James’ perspective.

He let a sigh slip his lips as he pressed dial, reaching the phone to his ear as he made his way down another block, heading straight for the tower, where he knew the Captain was staying. Or he was hopeful that he was there. He wouldn’t go jogging when it was sort of drizzly and the sky looked like it was about to let rip a rainstorm.

“ _Bucky? Hey,_ ” James held back the flat sigh that threatened to leave him at the sound of the happy tone, already imagining the grin he must be wearing from seeing the caller ID. If he had a tail, he was sure it’d be wagging at breakneck speed.

“Hey, I need to talk to you,” he blurted tightly, his eyes gradually surveying the area as he turned the corner and saw the Avengers tower come into view. He was afraid that he was being followed, or maybe he was being watched from a distance. If that was the case, then Brock had a right to be pushing him towards telling Steve about him. Otherwise, Rumlow would’ve been to blame if he decided to let him know later than sooner. Steve would automatically accuse the former HYDRA agent.

“ _Okay, I’m at the tower-_ ,” the captain replied calmly and casually, probably thinking that this was just a normal meet up or that James just wanted to hang around.

“I know,” his voice had gotten tighter when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A few guys in suits. Looking closer just confirmed that they were businessmen, but showing that James was getting paranoid, his soldier instincts beginning to rewire and perk back up at the feel of his nervous position. His guard was heightening again and he was feeling like he used to right after he was given the apartment.

“... _Are you okay?_ ” Steve seemed to catch on with his tone, his own voice sounding a little worried and now alert. There was some shifting as well, like he’d just stood up from his sofa or moved away from a bed or something. Either way, he had his full attention at that moment.

“I’m fine, it’s just- I can’t talk over the phone. I’m almost at the tower,” as soon as the last sentence was said, there was sudden noises in the background, a mass of shifting and ruffling of fabrics, like clothes.

“ _Wait, you’re almost here?_ ” he’d replied at the same time as the movements. And the faint grumbling in the background brought James’ mind to think that he may have just interrupted the aftermath of sex, the moment where they’d come down from a high. And the ‘ _fuck sake, Steve_ ’ that sounded like Tony just confirmed it, causing James to raise both brows and let a sigh slip. He’d interrupted something important again.

“Yeah, Steve. This is serious and needs to be in private,” he reached a hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and finger as he slowed, now casually walking in through the revolving doors of the tower.

“ _Alright... your floor, then?_ ” Steve sounded uncertain, the movements still being heard in the background, along with Starks’ griping and he headed straight for the stairs, wanting to give the captain some time to get ready.

“I guess. See you there,” he replied deeply as he started walking up the first of the thirteen flights he needed to climb before reaching his very own floor. And just as he heard Steves’ “ _Alright-,_ ” he pulled the phone from his ear and hung up, deciding to quicken his pace up just a little. He needed to get this over with so he could tell him about the bugs that Brock had found.

\----------

He wasn’t even panting when he finally reached his floor, opening the door and stepping into the little area that held the elevator and signs showing what were on what floor, just simple instructions. James quickly headed down the hallway, the living room instantly coming into view, with the big tv on the wall and the long, wide sofas and his very own kitchen, which was currently occupied by a super soldier making, what was more than likely, coffee. He headed straight over, stopping only a few feet from the island in the middle and he was standing on the other side, all stiff with tension and there was alertness lacing every inch of his face as he stared at Steve.

“You okay, Buck?” the other man turned around, his expression open and concerned while putting the two cups down, one being placed closer to him. Though instead of coffee it was hot chocolate. And that was a sign that he was trying to warm things up, like in a conversational sense. He was trying to make him comfortable enough to be open with him. He remembered the hot chocolate from when they were younger, back in the thirties and before he even started to serve.

He gradually and hesitantly reached out for the cup, only holding it on the table in his metal hand and not feeling the burn or scorch of the _should be_ hot mug. It was hot, but he just couldn’t feel it through the prosthesis.

“Buck?” James snapped his gaze up to him, his eyes locking firmly with the worried ones. His brow was knitted and he was watching him with so much concern. He may as well just start with the worst thing at the top of his list.

“I’m being watched,” he said flatly, keeping his entire body still as he tried to relax, tried to calm himself enough to the point that he could feel safe. But it was a little difficult without Rumlow there with him. He was back at the apartment, trying to find more bugs, and he hadn’t had another text off of him yet.

“What? By who?” he pulled himself back from his worried thoughts and took a deep breath.

“I’m… guessing, HYDRA,” he shrugged a shoulder. Brock was the one that pointed out that it must’ve been HYDRA. And they’d had to have been there _before_ he brought the former agent into his home. Maybe he recognized the model or something. He’d have to ask later, when he sees him again. And he _would_ see him again. He wouldn’t let Steve bring a SHIELD team down on him.

“How’d you know?”

“I’m thinking it’s my next door neighbour,” he calmly mentioned, letting go of the mug and letting it sit there on the table as Steve took a sip of his own, listening intently. “She seems nice, but there’s something off,”

“Which one? The college girl or old woman?” the captain put his cup down, a frown now on his face as he continued to seem concerned, but now alert and on guard since he mentioned HYDRA.

“Old lady. Brock got really worried aro-,”

“Who’s Brock?” ...shit. He tried to keep the wariness off of his face at his slip up, noting the brow raise Steve gave him. He didn’t seem to catch on to what Brock, though he was thankful for that, he’d still have to tell him now that he asked.

“Do you know… Brock Rumlo-,”

“Brock Rumlow!?” his voice shot up in volume, like he was yelling, but not. It was controlled yelling, as if he were trying to keep his head straight while still pissed off. “Bucky, he’d a HYDRA agent. You know him?” he already had a strong feeling that this would start off well or end well, but this version of Steve was confirming the thought, solidifying it in a grim atmospheric cage.

“He was my handler-,”

“Your handler,” he huffed deeply and angrily, standing on a thin line that could easily snap if here were about to say the wrong thing. He had to keep face and stay strong, stay guarded and ready for what Steve would reply with to everything he’d say.

“He’s not with HYDRA anymore-,” he started off calm, his tone still tight, but with a strained relaxed edge.

“Like hell he’s not!” the captain shot back, his hands almost slamming down on the island, nearly hitting his cup, but James didn’t jump or physically respond in any way. This Steve Rogers, he hadn’t seen before, not this angry or enraged. And he’d been the one to cause this emotion. This was clearly damaging their friendship, or whatever they had up until now. “He went into hiding as soon as he was healed enough that he could slip out of the burn-ward!”

“Because he would’ve been confined and interrogated in SHIELD!” anyone could tell that James’ trust never went far, and he trusted SHIELD as much as he trusted HYDRA, and that wasn’t saying much. It just meant that he didn't trust either, considering that HYDRA had snuck their way into SHIELD in the first place and that was what caused the DC battle. “He said he declined every offer and job HYDRA gave him while he was in hospital. He said he didn’t give two shits about them after DC,” and he believed that wholeheartedly. He believed Brock… he trusted him… He trusted Brock Rumlow with his life, with his being… with his mind?

The sudden realization dawned on him, that he trusted that man with more than just his knowledge and his life. He _trusted_ him… with his entire being… Was this what it felt like to have a person that you felt such strong feelings for? The warmth in your gut, the dazed mind and glazed eyes when you see the person that you-

“He _told_ you this?! You know where he is?” James snapped out his realization, his eyes darting straight to the soldier ahead of him, the anger and authoritative posture now aimed at him. “Buck, you have to tell m-,”

“No,” he snapped fast, his sudden response surprising even him, but the answer was solely him being honest. He wouldn’t tell him anything, nothing of his location, though it should’ve been easy to guess that he was back at his apartment.

“Buck-,”

“No!” he cut him off quickly, verbally fighting this man. Their voices were rising high against each other's, overlapping when they’d cut the others’ sentence off.

“Bucky, he’s HYDRA-,”

“No, he’s not!”

“Buck, he’s the badguy-,”

“He saved me!” he suddenly blurted bluntly, his voice at its’ highest, and it surprised the both of them, shutting them both up from the abrupt three word sentence. It was the shock on Steve’s face that made him even register what he’d said out loud, the utter stun forcing his eyes to widen and his mouth to fall open.

And it was true. Brock had saved him, not as in he rescued him from a dangerous mission or something, no. He saved him from being _just_ a weapon. He humanized him, made him _feel_. Showed him that he had a heart was a person, like everyone else and he even cared for him, like what a handler should be. He didn’t take advantage or screw with him or mess with his mind and abuse him. Not like any of the others. The man was one in a million to him.

“He was the only one that ever made me feel anything back in HYDRA,” he started, his gaze gradually dropping until he was staring into the hot cup of melted chocolate. “He’d be there when I was brought out of Cryofreeze, he warmed me up and made sure I was fine, when the guys who handled me before used to just leave me there to freeze and take advantage of me. Brock praised me, made conversation with me, even when I never replied. He gave me a nickname, something no one was ever supposed to do, because it would give me a sense that I wasn’t just a weapon, that I wasn’t an object they used to kill people,” he ran his thumbs over the sides of the circular cup, feeling the heat on one hand.

“He made you feel human,” James didn’t look up, but only nodded, slowly and subtly as he let a few of those memories seep further into his mind, carving themselves in to solidify that they were the ONLY memories he liked about being in HYDRA. Brock was the only good thing that came out of being in that hellish place and mindset.

It was about time he told him, everything he’d done and thought from when he first found Rumlow to now.

“I found him not too far from my place, about two weeks ago, give or take. He was beaten up, hurt, bleeding. He couldn’t walk, so I dragged him back to the apartment. I stitched him, patched him up. He was a bit of a dick at first,” he shrugged, picking the mug up for the first time and taking the first sip of a nice hot cup of chocolate. “But it’s understandable since he woke up in a room he didn’t recognize with the Winter Soldier standing over him,” he took another sip, trying to ignore that he’d just referred to himself as the soldier he used to be.

“How did he react?” Steve’s tone was wary, tight. He was clearly holding back just to listen to him instead of going off and capturing him.

“He asked for a status report, like he was supposed to when I came back from successful missions. I mentioned not being HYDRAs’ puppet and he dropped the whole soldier speak instantly. It was all sarcasm and witty remarks after that,” he glanced up, eyeing the other soldier with a softer look in his eyes. He was gradually calming down, which he was thankful for. He was easing up and feeling the calmness seeping into him as he drank the cocoa. “After he was able to stand, at least a little, we started becoming… sort of domestic, I guess. We went from job acquaintances to friends, to… whatever we are now,” even he didn’t know what they were. They cuddled and occasionally touched like they were relationship partners, but they never actually labelled what they were as anything.

Once they re-grouped, he’d have the time to ask and maybe explain that he was confused as to what he was feeling, in private obviously.

“Tell me straight, Bucky…” Steve caught his attention, the strong, unsure, yet authoritative tone causing him to pause in drinking the hot chocolate. “Is he a good guy,” with the way he said it, it didn’t sound as if he were asking about his status, like what side he was on. It was more… casual, genuinely asking if he was a nice guy, or good in general. Either way, he was positive that one answer would work for both questions.

“Yes, he is,” the sigh he got in response hadn’t been too, though it could’ve been a lot worse, so he was grateful for that. It had curved the corner of his lips upward, a soft, small smile gradually appearing where he normally held a frown.

“Okay, we’ll talk more about this later. HYDRA’s are first priority,” he gestured with a nod and reached back down for his mug, James still taking small sips of his own, but then put it down to talk, to continue about what he was originally there for.

“I guess Brock felt like something was wrong and he excused us away from her. We got back to my apartment, but he stopped me and gestured about checking for bugs, so we spread out and he found one. I think he may have recognized the model or something, because he seemed adamant that it was HYDRA watching me,”

“So, he was sure it was HYDRA. Alright. I’ll have to have a look for myself,” they were in planning mode, or Steve was anyway. He was thinking on things, his arms crossing over his chest as he stared into space and at him at the same time. “We’ll have to move you back into the tower for some time,” a slip of apology hit his face and James knew that Steve was aware that he didn’t want to be there, feeling like he was under lockdown again. Though, maybe having Brock there would help?

“Rumlow too,” it wasn’t a question, it really wasn’t. He didn’t want to give room for the soldier to deny him this. “That’s my only condition. I’ll willingly move back in for a while, but only if Brock does too,”

“We’ll talk about that later,” he pointed at him, a still serious look on his face, but the tone had a hint of amusement in it. So, maybe, he hadn’t killed their friendship. If he was making jokes then… it was fine between them?

He jumped slightly when the device in his pocket vibrated continuously, telling him he was being called. James quickly put his mug completely on the table and reached into his pocket, his hope of it being Brock dimming when he saw that it was Barton. He let a sigh slip his lips and clicked the ‘accept’ button to answer.

“Barton?” he questioned curiously, his brows knitting.

“ _You tell the cap? Are you with him right now?_ ” was he supposed to feel the worry blooming coldly in his stomach? Gradually growing as the grim feeling joined it.

“Yeah, he knows. I think he’s sort of okay with it,”

“ _Good, throw me on speaker,_ ” as soon as he was told to, he did. He pulled the phone from his ear and flicked on the speaker button, dropping his device on the table between them with Steve giving him a questioning frown. He hadn’t been the only one feeling it though. “ _There’s a needle and empty drug cartridge on the floor and the front door was left wide open. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that Rumlow was taken. Little old ladies gone too,_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed :) What'd you think? What was your favourite part!? Mine has to be when James was telling Steve what Brock made him feel back when he was the Winter Soldier. Had my heartstrings, man!! 
> 
> I really love writing this story, I'm pretty sure it's the most fun one I've had to write in a long time and I really hope you like it as much as I do. I really like hearing what other liked because it actually improves my worked and gives me more experience on what I should work with and what I should write the next time around. So I thank you greatly for letting me know. And it's tons of fun reading what you liked the most, it means I'm actually doing this right and it brings me so much happiness and confidence to make this better, along with my other stories :) 
> 
> Again, thank you and I hope you continue to read and enjoy this as well as the sequels and prequels to come xD


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be a little shorter, but I assure you that it was for a good reason. This one was particularly hard to write, but I hope you like it nonetheless, even if it IS seriously BAD(Not in a grammar way)
> 
> Also, I think me and my sister are okay now. I'm just not over there 'cause I came down with something that's been going around recently and I'd rather not get her or my nephew sick. But hey, it means more chapters' for you guys, so it's all good :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

The audible strike to Brocks’ face unwillingly forced his head to the side, his neck straining at the blow and speed, pulling a deep, pained grunt from his throat. He could instantly taste blood pooling in his mouth, the flavour spreading over his tastebuds and filling every crevice until he spat it out and sprayed the floor next to him, painting the concrete in a splattered, dark red shade. He huffed, panting and gradually brought his head back to glare up at his attacker, his dangerous little pupil from back in the day.

“You ain’t that weedy little piece of shit anymore,” he groaned out roughly, blood still being spat with his words. Brock shook his head, only managing to make the throbbing in his injured face worse. “You got stronger,” he swallowed harshly, trying to pick his head up only for it to be thrown back by another blow Ward forced on him.

“You got older,” he loosely dropped his head forward, not even trying to do anything against another painful blow to the face. What could he do while duct-taped to a chair in the middle of a plain, empty room at some new HYDRA base. And he was still heavily drugged from before. The only time he’d really had to recover was the few minutes he had as they pinned him to the chair, but there was only a handful of minutes before Ward started whaling on him. “And sloppy,” another punch to his face and one to his gut, forcing him to throw himself forward and curl inwards as more blood poured from his mouth, just to land on the floor ahead of him. Some sprayed for, making a short line of blood spattered only a few feet from him.

“Ain’t sloppy,” he wheezed through a few coughs. “I’d be dead already if I was,” he spat red ahead of him, aching and throbbing through the pain as he forced himself to straighten up in his chair. Ward was smirking at him when he managed to stare a flat expression up at the basterd. He had a dangerous glint in his eye, something that said he’d be in for more of this shit, or maybe worse.

“Or maybe…” more pain came with another punch to the gut, forcing him to curl in on himself again. “You’re just a lucky fucker,” another strike to the face, up under his chin and he was hurled into a coughing fit, blood sputtering from his lips and landing on him and the ground between his duct-taped legs. He wouldn’t say he was that lucky, maybe a little since he survived that shit the HYDRA team put him through. That nasty beating, where Winter found him afterwards. That was actually pretty lucky. And not getting caught for the last few years, even with his picture everywhere in every SHIELD and HYDRA base. So, yeah, he was actually a very lucky man, but he wasn’t sloppy. Like fuck was he. He was still the best agent, even if he was a former agent. He still held the top scores of every fucking challenge and test there was, excluding the ones Winter took.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the suddenly harsh grip on both sides of his head, holding him firmly and dragging him forward at breakneck speed. He let out a loud yell as his face connected with Wards’ knee, a sickening crack being heard and the entire centre of his face erupted in unbearable pain, his nose having broken on impact. And as soon as the basterd stepped back, fucking laugh as he moved, he could feel the wetness pouring from his face, running down. His eyes squeezed shut and he could taste it as it slipped over his lips and down his chin, covering him in his own blood, from shirt collar to trousers.

He quivered there, holding back every whimper that wanted to be let out. He ground his teeth and breathed harshly, his face hurting and throbbing even more. He was already a mess, cuts, deep gashes and bruises marring his face and Ward had to go and snap his fucking nose. Brock gripped tight on the chair arms, hearing the strong-ish wood creaking from the vice-like grip he held.

“Ya know, Commander. I don’t like hurting you-,”

“Oh, that’s bullshit and you know it,” talking really didn’t help with the pain, and his words were slurred from the still running blood and the fast swelling and pain. And the next strike that hit him forced his head to the side again, even more pain shooting through his entire upper half, mostly his head.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he growled, his voice sick and gritty with amusement clear in his tone, dripping from every damn word that left that damn mouth. “Bad things’ll happen if you interrupt-,”

“Like the bad shit ain’t happenin a’ready,” he interrupted again, sarcastically. Rumlow was ready for the next blow, a blow that didn’t come. And when he took the second to look him dead in the eye, an unwilling, cold shiver ran down his spine, something he wouldn’t let slip his lips. Ward was smiling, like a kid on Christmas morning. Even though smiling was usually a positive thing, this one definitely wasn’t, not when it was this jackass.

“I warned you,” his smile widened before he stood straight and turned away, stepping over to the table that sat off to the side, a few feet away. He had this stupid skip in his step, even when he stopped at it and picked through whatever was on it. Knives, scalpels and a gun, presumably, the basterds own. Looked fancy, and when he picked it up, he noticed the red skull and tentacles on the side as he turned it in his grip. A new HYDRA issued weapon he guessed. Fucking stupid, in his opinion. It was like they _wanted_ to fucking announce who they were to everyone. Whoever ran HYDRA now was a damn moron.

Ward seemed to admire the weapon for a few seconds, twisting the thing around and looking over it like an expert. He turned his way, the smile still there and he just started walking over, slow and intimidating, or he tried to be anyway. Like fuck would this piece of shit scare him. He trained the basterd into this dangerous predator-esc monster. Yeah, he was a little more messed up than when he last saw him, but fuck if he wasn’t the same shit he trained in the first place. Still overconfident, still hung up on looking the part of a psycho.

“Listen, Commander. You deserted us, you left us with nothing to call a leader after Pierce died. You should’ve been the head after that, but you just… abandoned us like some dying dog, ready to be shot in a back alley. And you didn’t even give us the mercy of shooting that dog,” and this is where the acting turned his stomach. So corny and cringe-y. Hell, Brock could act better than that and he hated soaps.

His mind snapped to alert as he strained watching Ward, seeing him come closer and closer with the gun. Would this be it? He’d die here by this piece of shits’ hand? Fucking great, he inwardly sighed. Rumlow shut his eyes when the agent was right over him, stopping right in front of him with the gun. He could hear the shuffling, the shifting and movement. Guess he wouldn’t be seeing Winter again, not after this. If he was trying to find him, he’d find his rotting body instead of a breathing Brock… What he wouldn’t give to see him, one last time. A smile on his face, finally happy with genuine feeling behind it. He never planned on telling him that he really liked him. That he was a damn fine man that’d make a great partner, even with his damaged side. Brock would’ve been happy with him, but they were both fucked up in the head, so it wasn’t really sayin’ much.

He still deserved better though, better than him, hell, even better than Rogers himself. And the guy was practically perfect.

And then his eyes snapped open wide and painful at the feel of the head of the barrel being pressed against his inner leg, right where the knee was bent. And before he could even fucking protest, only having time to tense every damn muscle in his body before-

_‘BANG’_

“ _AAAGGGHHHH!!_ ”

\--------------------

James nearly took the front door off of its hinges as he slammed through and into his living room, his eyes wide and filled with worry as he frantically looked around and headed straight for the bedroom after not catching Brock in there, moving random agents out of the way. He ignored the calls of ‘ _Barnes_ ’ and ‘ _Buck_ ’ and ‘ _Bucky_ ’. He just needed to find Rumlow here and make sure that he was okay and that they were just playing a sick joke on him.

He threw open the bedroom door, stomping in and still glancing around with fast precision. Nothing, no Brock. No sign of him. He even quickly looked in the bathroom, nothing was touched. James ignored his own audible panting, fast and scared. He was gone, taken, kidnapped and Rumlow must’ve known something like this would happen. Why is hells’ name would he send James off, knowing that he’d be able to take on HYDRA when they’d show up. Was he protecting him? Who was going to protect Brock?! He couldn’t from the apartment or the tower! He had no clue where he was!

“Buck?” he snapped his head around, fear plain on his face and he really didn’t care that Steve could see him like this. “We’ll find him,” he tried to comfort, his voice soft and calm, but how was he meant to calm down like this.

“How,” his own voice cracked, his knitted brow from worry starting to flip. HYDRA took Brock. That was all he really had to go on. But there weren’t many bases, so he could easily just massacre each one until he came across the one that held the former agent.

“Well-,” Barton came up behind the captain, Dugan cradled in his arms. Thankfully, the cat hadn’t decided to run away while the door was left open. “I happened to have a comm. to speak with the head of SHIELD. I can get the info and location, but we need to do this at the tower. We don’t know how many bugs are still in here, even after these guys tore most of them out,” he gestured to the agents looking around.

“So, we get back to the tower, assemble our team and go through battle plans once we have the Intel,” Steve chirped up, bringing his Captain-ness forward. He couldn’t wait, James needed to find him and going through all of what they were talking about would take too long. Brock could be dead by the time they get there at this rate.

“Get the Intel and location and we head straight there,” the soldier offered his own dangerous plan, stepping to the side and heading around the two Avengers on his way out of the room and into the livingroom. Barton would bring the cat to the tower, he knew he would, and more than likely drop him off at his floor since he was meant to be moving back in if Brock would. If he was still alive.

\--------------------

“You okay? You passed out,” what? Passed out? Why did-

“Fuck,” he cursed through clenched teeth at the cold stinging from his leg. He breathed harshly and tried looking down, ignoring the tearing grip in his hair keeping his head up. Blood, everywhere, pouring from his knee… where he’d been shot. Yeah, now he remembered. The basterd shot him. He couldn’t think straight, the still freezing pain from the open air getting into the wound and agitating it. He didn’t move his leg, wouldn’t move it. He was pretty sure he couldn’t.

“Now that I have your attention,” Ward paused, letting go of his hair before standing straight up and taking a few steps back and to the side, out of his field of vision. “That’s what happens when you interrupt me,” he was walking around him, circling his chair like some predator. “But after you went AWOL, I had this… pent up aggression that I really needed to take out on some,” he was back to standing in front of him. “It was actually just a huge coincidence that we found you. We were eyeing the Winter Soldier,” he crossed his arms, clearly showing that he had the dominant position right now. “Malick wanted him, told me to bug the place as soon as he was found. And I did,” he started walking again, pacing around him. “I couldn’t have cared less. But then, a few months later, nearly a year, and we see him dragging you in from the streets, all beaten up,” so they had monitors too? Cams to _watch_ what was going on, as well as listening.

“So, you figured you’d take action,” he groaned weakly, trying to calm his breathing and body. He was sweating, slick with it and he was in so much fucking pain he wouldn’t be surprised if he passed out again.

“Well, yeah. I had to get my hands on you. And Gloria had the idea of drugging your coffee. She's a great agent if you ignore the old age,” senior agents, the ones that never retired after fifty or sixty. A deadly agent posing as a sweet little old lady. He was never trusting old people ever again. “She made sure of the amount and maybe a few more cups of coffee and you’d be out. She practically memorized the Winter Soldiers schedule, and he was supposed to be grocery shopping later that evening… until you seemed to catch on to her,” he stood in front of him again. “That’s one of the things that make you worthy of being the head of HYDRA. You’re fast, physically, but… mentally? You’re even faster, and it makes you a dangerous agent. Something we need. Malick could never cut it,”

“So what, you want me to take his crown or some shit?” he wheezed grittily, spitting more lingering blood from his gums.

“No. I’m gonna to that. I just took you because you deserve what’s coming. My free time is going to be spent with you, torturing you, cutting you up and patching you up, just to do it all over again,” Ward beamed at him. Great, he was his fucking plaything. He swallowed roughly, feeling his body protest to such a minor movement. He really did a number on him. “But for now… I need to do my job. So that means that you have some time to make yourself at home,” just as he finished, Ward clicked his fingers and he suddenly heard a few sets of footsteps, heading right towards him. He could block the hard blow to the side of his face, even harder than the others and his vision suddenly darkened, another hit coming straight after, and he was out like a light. Pain scorching through him, like he was burning.

He wasn’t completely blacked out, only horribly dazed, between unconscious and awake, like some lucid dream. Brock was being pulled from the chair, lifted and carried with his leg screaming at him to every fucking movement and clip his leg took on the way to wherever the fuck he was being taken. He could hear doors opening and closing and people talking and swearing. Glasses were being clicked, like someone made coffee, and everything gradually lessened, the talking, the coffee, the banging into things and making his limb protest and coldly burn.

They were just walking, him being carried and he could still feel the wetness of the blood dripping from him, senses actually starting to die on him as he gradually let the darkness blanket him, warmth slowly coming to him. He was hurting, in pain and the sounds of cell gates caught him for a moment.

And then more pain and screaming, _his_ screaming as he was thrown down on something, probably a cot. He could barely feel anything after a few seconds, his ears only just catching the voice in the background as the guys that brought him here left. The voice kept calling, ‘hey’ frantically, an odd accent, but it was a guy.

He tried opening his eyes, but all he was met with was cell walls and a concrete ceiling before everything completely darkened around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Am I gonna end up dead for this chapter? I think so xD May need to watch my back. What was your favourite part? Or favourite dark part of this chapter? It's sort of hard to choose because of how dark it was :/ But I'd say that writing up Brock getting shot in the knee was very interesting for me, since I've never actually written torture or violence before. It was odd and really dark and hopefully I didn't just make anyone cry :(
> 
> The dark side of this was needed in my opinion, since I figured that Brock was a master when it came to giving and taking torture. I had to make it unbearable, for him and the readers and me :/ 
> 
> Please, let me know what you thought of this chapter in particular, I'm taking this very part as a milestone, like a type of achievement or goal and the feedback would be very appreciated :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM!!! 13th chapter and it's still going awesomely!! :D 
> 
> So, I started adding both James and Brocks' POV because I think it'd be easier to understand with both sides, timeline-wise and relationship-progression-wise. I figured it'd be fun too and it's actually easier to write both in one chapter. But later on, I'll be switching back, maybe. I'll probably go back and forth from two POVs in one chapter to just Brock or James entirely in one. Meh, who knows. It's up to you guys too. Like if you enjoy reading both sides of if you'd like more of one character and stuff, let me know :) I'm fine with whatever you guys like :) 
> 
> Also, I'd like to say that I have a full working plot for the sequel to this. I'm still thinking on names, but I'm thinking 'Reversion' of the few I listed. You could probably theorize on what the story would entail just by knowing what reversion means. From what I checked over Thesaurus, it has something to do with a "setback". It relates to the word. Have fun trying to guess what I'm doing, also, I'd really like to hear your ideas on it, on what you think would happen. I won't give you any hints or spoilers though, no 'oh, so close' or 'that might happen' or maybe a 'nah, so cold on that idea'. Nothing like that :)

It was way early into the next morning, the time it took to actually come up with the best way to extract and retrieve having took hours. They were in the briefing room, most of the Avengers having already been there when they arrived. Thor and Vision were off-planet and Banner was still MIA, so they weren’t there. Stark, Steve, Sam, Barton, Romanov and the twins were what they had to work with. And he was grateful to even have them. He’d say it was overkill to have almost the entire Avengers group, plus a few, but it’d make their job easier. And even more so with this SHIELD team that was being brought in by a guy named Phil Coulson, who was currently on screen thanks to the archer. According to the man, one of his own was taken to the same base. An engineer named Leo Fitz. One of their best.

So, at least they had a common goal in this plan.

They were given a secure line and were told everything they knew about a currently active old base. A very old base, hidden deep in a mass of mountains not far from where they were, meaning they could be torturing him or had already killed him at this point. They had the time now, they were a few hours ahead of them.

But, he was content that they had the location now, and a vague reading on how many armed men were actually there.

“Everybody… gear up,” as soon as the words left the captain's’ lips, James swiftly turned on his boot heel and headed out of the room, walking straight for the elevator with Steve on his tail, staying further back than before. He seemed to know not to stop him or talk to him at this point. Which he was glad for, an accidental lashing out wouldn’t be something to be proud of right now.

They both slipped into the elevator, staying silent as the doors closed and the ‘ _soothing_ ’ music came on as they lowered through the floors. And as soon as they came to a stop at _his_ floor, he felt a strong pat on his shoulder, just above the metal, the grip tightening for a few seconds before letting go. A reassuring gesture that did nothing as of right now. But he just gave a simple nod before stepping through the doors and heading straight through the hall, turning right at the end and coming up to another door, a locked, reinforced door with a pin-code that he’d memorized as soon as he arrived in this tower and was given his own floor.

He entered the pin, gradually taking a step back as it released a _‘hiss’_ and slowly swung open in his direction. He reached out and opened it further, his gaze darkening at the more than familiar suit, upgraded by Tony Stark himself. It still looked exactly the same, but there was a few new details to it, like the ‘A’ on the left side of the one-sleeved jacket and on the left side of the combat trousers, ‘ _Avengers-WS_ ’ written down the leg, from belt to knee. He was glad that they didn’t use the full codename he was forced, but he hated that they used it in general. Stark had the idea and Steve just rolled with it because that was what everyone knew him as, the Winter Soldier. Apparently, he couldn’t change his label.

The only thing that wasn’t in the framing that held the entirety of his suit and weapons, was the HYDRA Winter Soldier book. Steve put it away, hid it from everyone, even the Avengers and Nick Fury. He was the only one that knew where it was. He was pretty sure that T’Challa had it back on Wakanda. Or that was his theory anyway.

\----------

James slipped on his mask, the cover now obstructing more skin. Barely any was on show, apart from his fingers, because of the fingerless gloves and his eyes and forehead. But his eyes would be covered soon, his modified and upgraded goggles would be put on before they landed. The only other thing that was on show was his metal arm, the shoulder that still held the red star that irritated the hell out of him. He was tempted to ask Stark to get rid of it, make a design that fitted better than the mark, but...

He let out a sigh before looking over to the full-length mirror on the inside of the door. He looked like the soldier again, the version of him that he wanted to just forget. He scowled at the reflection before swiftly turning to grab all the weapons on the rack. He placed them everywhere. Slotting the knives in places to hide and keep a few on show for intimidation. He hid two pistols, keeping in mind that he’d give one to Brock once they found him. He had his bigger guns, two slotted on his back with his main hand weapon in his right hand, held tight in a vice-grip. He was ready.

He didn’t take another look in the mirror before closing the door, only slamming the thing shut and hearing the _‘bleeping’_ of the lock reactivating. James turned around and stopped, pausing to see his cat lounging on the back of the sofa, arms and legs hanging there while he was asleep. He quietly stepped over, switching the weapon to his left hand and then gently petting Dugan with the flesh one. The instant purring warmed him a little, letting a soft smile slip under his mask.

James then reluctantly pulled back and switched hands again, heading straight for the elevator. He didn’t have to wait long before the doors opened and he was met with the twins, Pietro and Wanda in their casual gear. The fear seeming to flicker on the girls face wounded him a little, but it wasn’t surprising. He was used to it. And he was more than used to seeing that awed beaming grin on the brother. The amazement and sudden excitement. It was like he was drawn to danger. He wouldn’t leave him alone when he first moved in, always hanging back but hanging around to watch him. After some time, he started messing with him, when James didn’t know his abilities. He’d strode through the same door a few times, in a matter of seconds, playing off that he hadn’t even when the soldier stared with a confused and questioning frown. He eventually understood though. He’d caught hinting that Barton threw his way, and what he’d said when they’d mellowed out later in the day, something about ‘enhanced metabolism’. A speedster.

He was turned facing the doors, ignoring the fear and awed stares he was getting behind him. He stayed silent as the elevator rose through every floor until they reached the very top, the door opening with fresh air flooding the tall box. Pietro instantly dashed passed him, stopping just a few feet from the front of the Quinjet. Wanda quickly followed behind, wanting to catch up to him and get away from James. He assured himself that it was personal. A few others had tried to get away from him because they were afraid. It was sad to say, but when he wore the uniform, he felt changed again, like he was back to his dangerous and intimidating persona where many ended up dead. He felt more and more like the Winter Soldier from HYDRA when he was given a mission.

“Buck,” he glanced over to the back of the ship as he gradually strode towards it, catching the Captain waving at him, gesturing him over with Barton and Romanov at his side. The archer gave him a crooked and reassuring smirk and the spy did nothing, only stood there, staring off into the distance. Though he knew that it was only an outer action. She was more than ready to tear a limb off.

James turned only slightly and headed straight for the back, getting closer and closer until he was stepping onto the door and striding up the ramp, passing the three by with a gentle pat on the shoulder from Steve. Stark and Wilson were already inside, the Falcon having taken the co-pilot seat. Romanov quickly passed by him to take her own, climbing into the main-pilot seat before flicking the launch protocol.

“We’ll get him, Buck,” he heard the Captain mutter calmly as he stepped passed him and took a seat next to the standing Stark in his complete body-suit of metal. James only huffed and stepped over to the unoccupied bench, staying silent as ever as he took his seat across from them and tried to loosen the tension in his body. The only person that would be able to reassure him at this point was Brock. Any sign of life would ease him tremendously. The empty needle that Barton had found was something, the meaning being that they may have transported him while he was out, but he was only alive to give information, which was Starks’ opinion. Brock was a grunt, a former agent and commander of STRIKE. He had nothing other than the Intel he’d gathered from being housed by a main priority target for both HYDRA and SHIELD. If he hadn’t had the information or wouldn’t give it, what was he worth alive to them?

The gust of speed blowing his way brought him from his grim thoughts, his gaze catching the brother of the enhanced duo as he sat there, a seat or two away with his usual grin glued to his face. The sister was next to the speedster, her expression determined and ready for some extra field experience. Barton was sitting directly across from him, playing with the sharp end of one of his arrowheads, turning it between his fingers with his bow in his other hand.

\--------------------

Brock heard his groan echo off of the walls as he gradually came to, his entire being burning with pain, mostly his leg, from the knee. He easily remembered being shot there, that basterds’ face appearing in his head at the thought. He was gonna end that kid. He was thinking of pulling the trigger and making sure he aimed at both of his knees instead of one.

“Rip his spine out and feed it to ‘im,” he growled lowly through clenched teeth, a pained wheeze quickly following, pulling an aching arm up and over his eyes, his elbow pointed up. He needed to relax a little and figure out a way to escape. Maybe find a way to send a message to Winter and let him know what’s up. He had no clue as to where he was though. So he was screwed on that front.

“That’s a gruesome image,” Rumlow groggily opened his eyes under his arm and tried to ignore the horrible throbbing throughout his body, his brow knitting before moving his limb and achingly turning his head to where the Scottish voice came from. He instantly zoned in on the slightly blurred out form of a guy in the cell across from him, curled up in the corner of the cot and facing him. He looked scared, but subdued, tired and he looked like he had the shit beaten out of him too, but not as badly as Brock. The kid looked like he only took a few punches to the face and wherever else, but no bullet wounds, no sign that he couldn’t move, from his position and posture. Maybe a four percent beating rating out of ten? Brock had maybe an eight.

“Got a lot more where that came from, kid,” he turned his head back, facing up at the ceiling his arm returning to cover his eyes. And he did, he had _A LOT_ more where that came from. He wanted the chance to torture Ward after shooting him in the leg and punching him repeatedly in the face. He wanted to rip his head off and shove it so far up his ass that you could see it through the neck hole. He wanted to tear his sac off and make him eat it. He wanted to shoot him in the knee, over and over in the same place just to hear him scream until he passed out, and then he’d wait for him to wake up and do it all over again.

“Great, I have a psychopath for a cellmate,” he almost sounded exasperated, like he’d had enough and he really couldn’t blame him.

“I’m almost completely sane, kid. Just have a bit of an anger management issue,” the ‘almost’ he’d added to the first sentence was to take the edge off of the lie. Because he wasn’t that sane, never was to begin with, but it was better than saying that he was a messed up fucker. And the anger management thing was him being completely honest. He did have anger issues, but he’d learnt to keep a lid on them. He wasn’t as much of a ticking time-bomb as he used to be. “Nobody's perfect,” he added tiredly, hissing when he stupidly tried to shift. Everything burst into pain and he yelled out. It wasn’t so much of a yell, but it hurt enough for him to be vocal about it. It felt like his leg was trying to tear itself off at the knee. Fuck, if he wouldn’t be limping for the next few years if he ever got out of this shit.

“Then you’ve never heard of Captain America,” _HAH_. If the kid only knew. He groaned again, trying not to move on the cot. He was in too much pain to do anything, maybe even _think_ at this point, and he wasn’t particularly in the mood to cause himself more pain, knowing that Ward wanted to do worse than what he’d already done. This was time to recover, maybe he could plan a little while he was at it. Plan to stall the piece of shit. He was delaying the inevitable, but he really didn’t feel like dying anytime soon. Though with how much pain was coursing through him _now_ , he wouldn’t be surprised if he thought of shooting himself if it got worse later.

He wasn’t going to bother saying anything to his reply. Yeah, Rogers was close to perfect, but that was it. He was so very close that it should be impossible. Loyal to his own, to a fault. He loved his team. His friends. His judgement was practically always right. He had good taste. A posterboy. He was the American dream with the eagle and flag and all that shit. He had the brains and brawn. And to top it all off, he was a damn handsome man that could have anyone he wanted.

“Leo Fitz, everyone calls me Fitz,” he groaned through closed lips in acknowledgement, hating that he sounded so weak at the moment. The name wasn’t actually familiar to him, not ringing any bells at all. The kid must’ve been important though, if Ward wanted him in a cell instead of dead. And judging from the lesser injuries, there was more to the basterd wanting him there. He was there for a reason and there was something between them making it so he wouldn’t hurt him beyond a point. He mustered up some muscle in jaw and opened his mouth.

“Brock,” he muttered achingly, his brow knitting deeper with the steadily growing pain. Painkillers or maybe morphine would be great at this point. Maybe he could find a way to knock himself out without hurting himself. He was more than sure that this growing throb would stop him from trying to catch some recovery shuteye. Hell, maybe he and the kid could find a way to pop open these damn old cell gates and he could knock him out that wa-...

Wait… old cell gates, popping them off-

Brock let out a painful groan through clenched teeth as he attempted lifting his head, the movement not working and he tried not to let his body arch automatically at that first shock of pain. Didn’t work. He’d unintentionally let out more and he actually fucking whimpered.

“What? What’s wrong?” he faintly heard shifting from the kid, wrenching his eyes open to see a blurry version of him inching towards the edge of his cot, his attention fully on the former agent. “Is it that bad? Should I get a guar-,”

“Shut up, and tell me how old these cells look,” he gritted, his teeth staying clenched as he tried relaxing his muscles. His abs and chest took most of the beat that time, straining to allow him to lift his head. He panted slightly and swallowed thickly, hating how that seemed to hurt just as bad as talking and breathing.

“Uh… they-uh… look- old. Maybe fifty years old? Maybe older?” he seemed unsure, questioning as he looked over the cell itself.

“And the cell door?” he swallowed the taste of blood, the tangy-ness having lingered from his earlier torture. He attempted turning his head, only managing to tilt a few inches and catching the guy hesitantly stepping over to the gate with a faint limp. He looked it over, examining it, but he could see that he had no clue as to what he was talking about or even asking about. “The hinges, what type are they,” he clarified, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Uh… old, very old,” Rumlow couldn’t stop rolling his eyes this time, even if it made his skull ache. “Slot-bolts?” good. Gotta love the old stuff. Slot-bolts were the type that were lifted on, meaning that if they had some leverage and could do some sort of see-saw effect, it’d pop right up and off of its’ hinges.

“Wanna get outta here, kid?” he groaned quietly, trying to ease his breathing so it wouldn’t hurt as much to turn his head and actually face him, even with his body still hurting to an almost unbearable point. They wouldn’t be leaving quietly with Brock in this state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hoped you enjoyed this chapter :) My favourite part so far was James gearing up, having dark nostalgic thoughts on having been the Winter Soldier. And writing Brocks' side, where he was in pain and when he was talking with Fitz. Those parts were interesting to write up. 
> 
> What was your favourite part? Seriously! I'd really like to hear :) It spurs me to write faster and update quicker because I really do like reading what people liked in the chapters. It interests me to see what other people like more or dislike more. It also helps with improving my characterization if someone likes how I made a character react to something else. :) 
> 
> And, I really hope you read the upper-notes, because I mentioned the sequel. That I have a fully worked out plot for the next part to this series. :) I really hope you let me know what you think would happen :) It'd be interesting and I may even use a few ideas, maybe add them if I hadn't thought of it or if I liked it enough to involve it in a few places :) It'd be really fun reading you ideas so I really hope you get involved with it and let me know! :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 14th chapter!! On a roll here :D This story's seriously fun to write. I really can't remember the last time I had this much excitement on getting another chapter up. I don't think I was like this with my other stories, a chapter a day, or a few in one week. I remember loving when I wrote a Derek Hale/Dean Winter story/one-off and uploaded it as fast as I could. I love that pairing so much, holds a special place in me, but I think that RumBuck has taken the mantle, this story and series specifically.
> 
> I'm really proud of this and I'm really happy that you're enjoying it too :) Your comments and attitude towards it spurs me to keep writing and uploading everyday or every few days and it really means so much to me :) So thank you so much. 
> 
> Also, I really seriously loved the theories you came up with for the sequel I've been working on since a few chapters ago. I'm really happy that you're all on board with it and I hope to see your names pop up in the next installment :) You're all really awesome and I love you guys :)

“Just- nudge it under!” Brock ordered with a frustrated groan, teeth clenched so hard that he was actually grinding them. He’d be lucky if he had any left by the time the door came off. Hell, he’d do it himself, but there was obvious reason why he couldn’t. He’d gotten the kid to break his bed, dismantling it to find a solid, thick slab of wood. Once he did, he told him to slot one end under the door, through the thin gap between the bottom of the door and ground. What part of that wouldn’t be understandable? ‘Cause that was what they were currently having communication issues about.

“How?! It’s a lot harder than it looks!” the brat shot back with a cracking voice. He was actually really tempted to try and get off of the bed and pop open his own gate and the kids’ just to slap him across the back of the head.

Brock stared at the ceiling with a flat look on his face, something that said that he was ‘ _so done_ ’. Was it the Scottish to American language limit or something? Could this guy even understand what the hell he was talking about...

“Just slip a few inches of the slab under it,” he grumbled lowly, ignoring the actual painful headache from this situation. This kid was infuriating him, to a point that he hadn’t felt since having to obey Pierce. Though this was a comical infuriation than a ‘ _you need to die in a ditch_ ’ kind.

“I’m trying!” as soon as he was out, he’d slap him. That was his current goal to work towards at this point. Other than escaping, kneecapping Ward and getting back to Winter, who should’ve not doubt noticed that he was gone… Christ, he hoped he was okay. Brock didn’t like the thought, but he knew that James was the type to blame himself if something went wrong. He’d gathered that from just hanging around him for two weeks and a few days. He seemed the type, and he’d told him to go and tell Rogers without him. Winter didn’t want to leave him and as soon as he makes him leave the apartment, he’s kidnapped. Hopefully, nothing had gone wrong and Winter was as calm as he could be. Maybe Rogers was looking after him, keeping him focused. The soldier was as much of a ticking time-bomb as Rumlow was, just in a more volatile way that would end with a majority of people dead.

“Winter,” he muttered in a deep whisper, bringing his aching arm back up to cover his eyes. The word actually sank his heart as well as eased his tension a little bit. Both reasons being that he wasn’t sure if he’d survive this because of that piece of shit pupil of his and Garrett's and then it eased him because he knew that the name seemed to calm James like he had an anchor. It seemed to do the same for him, and he wouldn’t question it. If it worked, it worked. He wouldn’t look a gifthorse in the mouth.

“What?” he heard the kids’ voice strain, cracking under some kind of pressure. He heard a thick ‘ _clang_ ’ of wood hitting metal and managed to turn his head far enough to see the panting Scottish guy with the wood firmly stuck under the door. It hurt like hell to twist his head, but he tried to ignore it as much as he could.

“A’right, now stick something under the centre of the slab and get something heavy for the other side, to weigh it down. Door should lift off of its’ hinges-,”

“Like a leverage see-saw!” ...should he have just said that from the beginning? _Yeah, he’d slap this kid so hard after that door opened_. Brock closed his eyes, taking easy breathes to calm himself again and thought of the name, not season, or the Winter Soldier, just the nickname and the remarkably handsome face that came with it. The thought of him seemed to distract him, even from the loud ‘bang’ of metal hitting the ground. Though it did shock him enough and he opened his eyes and achingly turned to the side to see the ‘ _oh shit_ ’ look on the kids’ face while resting over the empty side of the slab. He must’ve used himself as the weight.

The sound of the door on the other end of the room caught both their attentions and the guy suddenly launched out of the cell and ran behind _his_ , ducking low between the little gap of the rock wall and the wall of his cell, just behind him on the cot. Brock gave him one quick glance before closing his eyes and trying to relax, pretending to be as out as the time they left him here. Why did it hurt to just lie there!

The door suddenly slammed open when the keys were taken out, the jingling of them catching his attention for a second. He could hear the light pants from the kid hiding behind his cot outside of his cell, but ignored it in favour of listening to ‘ _fuck_ ’ that left the guard and then the stomping footsteps towards his cell, the hand suddenly grabbing his door and shaking it, cluttering and clanging together and that was his cue to wake up.

He painfully took in air for a gasp and ignored it and the growing ache to gradually turn his head to the man standing outside of his gate, currently angry and red-faced. And it was definitely due to him losing one of the guys he was meant to keep in this room.

“Where’s the other prisoner?!” he yelled at him, his voice frantic, but firm and demanding.

“The fuck should I know,” he groaned calmly, turning his head to look back at the ceiling and closing his eyes to seem like he was going back to sleep-

“The great and powerful Brock Rumlow, bedridden and taken out by his own brat. Must be embarrassing for you,” his brow knitted in anger at the words, but he kept his eyes closed. “Oh hey, I was told that the Winter Soldier had you locked up in his place, his apartment. Did he fuck you?” Brocks’ eyes snapped open and he instantly tried to sit up, his body working on its own and wanting to rip this guy apart. He only managed to get up on his elbows before feeling cuts re-opening and gashes bleeding again. Everything from the thighs up were pooling with blood all over again. And he let out a pained, loud yell. “Was he good? Can imagine you being a pillow-biter, as he fucked you hard and deep and filled you with his cum. He call you his bitch? Or little slu-,”

“Careful what you say, you piece of shit,” he growled lowly, his anger easily over shadow his increased pain and the growth of his adrenalin starting up before he actually managed to sit up, with the help of his grip on the bars next to him. He was sitting up, but he could feel himself wanting to just collapse back. His body wasn’t going to last at this point and his leg was in agony, the hardest part was actually not making a pained noise at the pressure and pain his leg was giving off.

“Or what? You gonna kill me?” he laughed before pushing himself from the bars and stepping away, still laughing as he walked passed and down the hall to the door. He almost smirked when he noticed the kid sneak around and then launched at him, his arms and legs wrapping around the guys back and then he swung his head forward, slamming it into the guard's head, hearing the nasty sounding crack of skulls making rough contact.

\--------------------

“Is that the Winter Soldier?” the tall brown haired girl, the enhanced, or Inhuman.

“He’s terrifying,” the little, English scientist.

“You know, he can probably hear you, right?” the blonde, the Inhuman guy.

Of course he could hear them. He was crouched right next to the SHIELD team. But he didn’t bother talking, didn’t bother saying anything while he stared off at the base ahead of them, everyone hidden and out of sight of the guards. James was actually planning, staring through his sniper-scope while they were all talking through the reunion, the avengers, save Barton and Romanov, having only recently found out that the new director, Phil Coulson was alive. He’d heard of it, that the man had died during New York's Alien invasion. Apparently, they’d only found out that he wasn’t dead a few weeks ago, and this had been the first physical contact or conversation they’d had with him since.

Three guards on the ground, at the front door. Four on the above floor, on watch, guns at the ready. Two extra on either side, keeping guard on the outskirts. He already had an idea on who could take them out, and it wasn’t anyone from the SHIELD group. The Avengers could handle the break in with their skillset.

“Buck?” he heard the captain quietly call to him, saddling down next to him by the bank of the mountain they were sitting silently on. “What’re we working with,” he asked loud enough to pause all the talking around them and catch everyone's attention, to get back on track of their mission.

“Three guards at the front door, Quicksilver can take them. Four on the above floor, I’ll take them. And two extra on either side, on the outskirts, Hawkeye’s got them,” he replied robotically as he lowered his gun and stared at the tall, hidden building. He could actually see turrets too, like they were expecting heavy fire. “Ironman has the guns,”

“Givin’ me orders, Terminator?” there was no heat behind his words or any disobedient snark there, it was just a casual rhetorical question, but he felt his own demeanour darken, just a bit. There was no time for talk or rekindling anything. This was a mission to be taken seriously. And he made no comment, gave no reply. He sat there, staring at the building with his brow knitted in the centre and pointed down in concentration and focus. Though he could feel the faint spark of worry in Steve’s eyes as he watched him, boring his gaze through him like a mother would her child. He didn’t like it at all. He didn’t need it. He needed Brock.

“What about us?” the taller sandy blonde haired woman spoke, her arms crossing by the sound of the clothes shifting.

“Don’t get in the way,” he unintentionally said, his tone flat while he returned to his position, his eye reconnecting with the scope of his sniper rifle and he could feel the few looks he got in response. But he couldn’t have cared less.

“And what he means by that-,” Barton spoke up, cutting any retort they may have had on their tongue. “-Is that breaking in is the fun part,” he seemed to clarify by getting into position behind him, crouching, but not as low as James was, so he had a good angle for the two guards on both sides and he wasn’t in the way of the soldiers four marks on the upper floor.

He only took a glance to the side, seeing that Pietro was the ready position, though his mind hadn’t seemed to be. James shifted his gaze to what the Sokovian man was smirking at and he raised a brow when he seemed to stop on the blonde Inhuman boy, a smirk on the mans’ lips. Whatever was going on there, he’d rather not get involved with.

“Quicksilver,” he called as if asking if he was ready. He looked his way, seeing that he was now ready, their eyes making contact before giving him a nod. He then shot off down the mountain and headed straight for the three guards at the door.

And it was fast, efficient and the bodies were dropping like flies. James’ rifle and fingers working fast on his four targets, working in unison to Barton and his arrows. They all fell simultaneously along with Pietro taking out the three and managing to return in the time it took for the two ranged men to stand up, having taken out their guards.

And thankfully, no alarms were set off, the three having moved too fast for anyone to have the chance.

“... Wow…” he’d almost smirked at the brunette Inhumans’ quiet exclamation. Their precision and ease was trained. They hadn’t actually worked like _this_ together, but the co-operation and field experience together may have had a hand in forcing them to trust each other during this type of break in. Teamwork.

\--------------------

So, the kid looked a little more messed up now. There was more blood and bruises on him, or from what he could see while heavily leaning to the side against the bars on the cot. He was messing with the keys, fumbling to find the right one to his cell. His twitchiness wasn’t really a good thing, but what he just watched made up for a few things. He had the balls to jump on him and fight the big guy until he managed to floor him and grabbed his keys. How the hell he did that, Brock would never figure out. The size difference should've been a disadvantage.

“I don’t know why I’m even letting you out,” he grumbled as he found the right key, slotting it in and opening the door with an ear splitting creak. “HYDRA Commander…” he scoffed, eyeing him warily.

“Former,” he corrected, his voice wheezy and strained as he sat there. He grunted painfully as he tried reaching out, using everything in him to move and try to get his legs off of the bed. Brock groaned loudly and bit his lip hard enough to taste more blood when he managed to drop his limb off and let it hang. Everything just burst into burning again, his body scorching with pain and he could feel the stinging in the corner of his eyes. Like hell was he going to fucking cry right there.

“What he said earlier? Was it true?” very specific...

“About what?” he asked uninterestedly as he tried holding his pain back, trying everything to ignore it and distract himself from it. The kid was the best thing he had to do that, but the questions that he was sure would come weren’t going to be fun to answer.

“The Winter Soldier? He locked you up and… had se-?”

“No,” was his instant answer, no beat between the question and his reply as he almost glared at the sheepish expression the kid was giving him. “I was hurt and he was patching me up. That was it,” it hadn’t been a lie exactly. Yeah, Winter patched him up and kept him in the apartment, but he hadn’t been on lockdown. He’d left all the doors unlocked and let the window stay open whenever it was too warm. He could’ve left whenever he wanted, he just didn’t. But it wasn’t just ‘patching up’. He’d admit that they grew close, closer than he’d thought they had. Brock actually had fun hanging with Winter. All those days they spent together after he was able to walk around. There was laughing, jokes, smiles all around and he’d enjoyed almost every minute. Hell, even when he first cuddled the soldier and he freaked out and went into a panic. Brock was there to bring him down and he felt this insane warmth after calming him. He felt responsible for him and he liked the feeling. And the protectiveness they had for each other when Barton showed up...

He had no idea what to call the feelings he had for the man, it was more than _‘like’_ and, yeah, people would say _love_ , but… it was something else… something special to him that only Winter made him feel… Brock wasn’t stupid, he knew that he had strong feelings for him. He just didn’t know what to call it or how to say it.

“He’s the nicest guy you’d ever have the pleasure of meeting and he wouldn’t hurt anyone unless it was in defence or for a mission,” he unnecessarily added achingly as he painfully inched himself over to the edge of the cot, his body protesting and weakening from over using his throbbing and injured muscles. His legs were practically screaming coldly at him, his shot knee wasn’t even moving. Brock couldn’t move it without feeling like it was trying to tear every muscle and tendon in there.

“So, he’s a good guy?” the kid stepped into the cell and hesitantly got closer to him, reaching out his arms like he wasn’t sure whether to help him or not.

“In a lot of ways, yeah. Talking about being _‘perfect’_ earlier. He _is_ ,” he shrugged, regretting it instantly. James was perfect to him, something he _wouldn’t_ admit yet. Winter was the perfect man, even with his side effects of the Winter Soldier stuff. He was perfect in his eyes… Brock was thinking like a fucking schoolgirl…

The kid didn’t seem to comment on that. Instead, he actually reached out, minding his injured everything as he tried to help him up, nearly dropping him as Rumlow groaned and wheezed, panting harshly and coldly while trying to ignore the pain thrumming through him. He still felt the stinging in the corners of his eyes and he still saw everything as a blur, but at least he had a way to get out of there now.

“Get a long piece of wood from your bed,” he requested as he managed to get over to the opening of his cell, his vice-like grip being strong enough to hold him up on his feet. He needed some kind of crutch and weapon to use to get around. He would strictly use the kid. If they needed to move fast or was getting too weak to move on his own, then yeah, he’d ask, but for slow walking, a crutch would do.

“This one?” he looked up, still wheezing and panting as he looked over the ‘three-quarters-his-size’ narrow frame and nodded before reaching out for it, using enough strength to use it like an actual walking stick, another second leg since his was out of commission.

“A’right, s’get outta here,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter!! THE GREAT ESCAPE!!! Or not so great 'cause Brock has to wobble around with a stick like some old man yelling at kids to get off of his lawn xD Oh, so sad. I shouldn't make fun of his pain, bad KayReaper... 
> 
> What was your favourite part!? I had to seriously think this time. It's between the fuzzy thoughts in Brocks' head about James, or it's Clint jumping into the rescue when James was a little out of it. The whole "Don't get in the way," and Clint just entered like "And what he means by that-, is that breaking in is the fun part," thing. What was yours? What was yours? What was yours? 
> 
> Also, I'm aware that I sort of missed out on writing the Fitz fight scene, I'm just not too good at them is all, so I try to skip if I can. 
> 
> Hope you liked it nonetheless :) Please let me know what you thought!!! :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15th chapter!! I don't know, but I think this may reach 20 chapters :) I'll have to work it out. 
> 
> To tell you guys the truth, I never actually planned to add any abduction or torture chapter or anything. At the start I just thought of adding a boring, old, casual, Rumlow warms up to the humanized and domestic James. But after a few chapters, I'd read so many great comments and so some much love and awesome feedback, I figured, what the hell, lets take it a step further and get some HYDRA up in here xD So long story short, you actually made this story reach where it is right now :) I just wrote it and updated. You guys are the ones that motivated me to get this a few chapters longer and had me add all the excitement :) Thank you.
> 
> Also, it IS getting closer, the ominous end and stuff. We still have a few chapters left, but it's passed the halfway point, I think a few chapters ago it hit it. But no worries, the sequel will be up as soon as this finishes, so it's not like it's ending abruptly or anything :)

With the hold up to grab the guard's gun, the limping, still bleeding wounds and lack of energy from the both of them, they hadn’t gotten that far at all. They were a few halls away from the cellblock they’d been in, but from what he remembered of this base, it was huge on the inside. He wasn’t a guy to make TV references, unless they were shows he enjoyed, but imagine a HYDRA Tardis. Didn’t look too big on the outside, but on the inside, it was a maze of halls and tech.

Brock swallowed thickly and slowed down, pausing with his free hand against the wall. He didn’t say anything as the kid kept moving, only stopping to check if he was following. And when he did, his eyes widened for a second as he came back, sneaking his way towards him.

“You’re leaving a blood trail!” he half whispered, half yelled in his strong Scottish accent. Rumlow wheezed and managed to turn and look over his shoulder at what the kid had gestured to. He cursed under his breath at the drops of red following them.

“Sorry for slowly bleedin’ out,” he grumbled back sarcastically. He couldn’t exactly do anything about it in his shape, and he didn’t even know which of the gashes were making the trail. He was sure that his knee was one of them, because that one was still open and he could feel the stinging, cold air getting to it. It’d more than likely be infected if he didn’t get it looked at soon. Maybe they could find the MED lab. If he mapped it out right in his head. It was only, sort of, out of the way. Maybe two halls to the left after walking three more. It wasn’t too far, but there was a higher risk of getting caught if they lingered around.

Ward would know where to find him if he knew they escaped. Bleeding like this wouldn’t get him far, so the logical thought of where he’d go would be the MED lab, where there were bandages, gauze, pain-meds, morphine, etcetera. So weighing his options… leading a trail right to them as he bled out and got slower, high risk of getting caught. Head to the lab with a trail following to patch himself up, also high risk of getting caught. But at least the ‘bleeding out’ would slow down if he patched himself up. It’d just take longer to get out of there because they’d have to go a different route to where they were currently going. Blood trailing and all that.

“I need to patch this up,” he breathed harshly, but quietly as he gestured towards the leg he’d been practically _dragging_ around, using the wall for leverage as he took a quick breather.

“Okay, where’s the medical wing?” the kid whispered, having gotten closer and was keeping his eyes out, looking both ways in the narrow, but empty hallway. They’d been more than a little lucky since leaving the cells and he was just anticipating that luck running out soon. There was no way that their escape would go unnoticed for long. It was surprising that they hadn’t been found yet.

“No MED-wing, but there’s a lab not far from here,” so the place wasn’t _that_ big, like he was making out before. It was just looked bigger on the inside than the outside. That was what he’d meant earlier.

“Can we make it?” he knitted his brow and stared up at him. “Is it easy to get to?”

“It’s about as risky as lingering in a hallway, bleedin’ out,” he deadpanned, wincing as he tried to push himself from the wall, pain still thrumming through him and throbbing like someone was playing the drums in his body. He was doing well to ignore it from the most part, but it was on the verge of becoming unbearable with all his moving around and letting his leg hang. He was afraid of collapsing, because he knew that was coming, and it’d hurt even worse than anything else at this point. Landing on his wounds, especially his leg… they’d be found in a matter of seconds.

“Okay, is it on the way?” the kid swung his arm out as if to gesture down the hallway they were going and he just nodded, shrugging his shoulders and regretting it again.

“Sort of. Go down a few more hallways and turn left somewhere,” he panted and wheezed as he started walking again, using the wall and the stick to keep him up and going. He was sure that he was still making a trail behind them and he didn’t like the thought that maybe he’d be the reason they get caught. “It’s a little outta the way, but you don’t have to stop,” he hinted grimly, wanting the kid to keep going. He wouldn’t bring the infuriating guy down with him.

“I’m not just gonna leave you here,” he actually sounded offended as they kept limping down the hall and he raised a brow at him for a split-second. “You’re the one that got us out and I owe it to you, to get you out. Even if you are HYDRA-,”

“ _Was_ ,” he replied quietly through gritted teeth, panting slightly because of the pain still sparking often in his body. “I _was_ HYDRA. M’not anymore. After DC I got out,” Brock grumbled lowly, trying move just that little bit faster. It’d wear him out, but the faster they got to the MED lab, the faster he could grab some painkillers and patch himself up. At least he’d have a higher chance of getting out then. Hell, he’d grab some pain-meds for the kid too.

“Why?”

“‘Cause it sucked, and I’m a better man than that,” he answered flatly, probably having added some sarcasm to the sentence too. Though it was one of his reasons for leaving. _It really did suck_. HYDRA got him crushed under a building and thrown in the burn-ward for a few months, and no one, not even his own team,  noticed until it was coming up to the time that he could actually move and get out of there. He felt useless after finding that out and he just dropped the HYDRA gig and left, went into hiding.

“Are you the same Brock Rumlow that was the Commander of STRIKE? That special attacks unit SHIELD created?” now that was one hell of a question. Obviously he must’ve clicked onto it after that guard said his full name and he was known in SHIELD for working alongside Rogers during missions.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he simply answered as the kid peeked down the next hallway and gave him the okay before they started sneaking again, their voices low and almost a whisper.

“So, you’ve worked with Captain America,” it was a statement and he almost rolled his eyes. Instead, he tried to move faster again, his panting getting rougher with each slightly more painful throb.

“Yeah,” he didn’t elaborate or add anything, even when the kid gave him an eyebrow gesture that requested he do just that. He didn’t. Brock just kept limping forward, ignoring that previous expression. They needed to reach the MED lab and that was his primary goal, not chitchat about Rogers and him working in the field together. Hell, if he got out of this, he was sure he’d get one hell of a lecture and a promised beating if he did anything wrong. James would’ve told the Cap by now.

“What’s he like?”

“This really the time to be fanboyin’ over the American hero?” he stared flatly at him as they reached the next corner, a sheepish look passing over the kid as he stepped closer to the edge and peeked around. His hand came up, stopping him there and Brock took the second to glance behind them, keeping an eye on their six as the guy did their twelve. It lasted a few seconds, them just standing there and then the kid dropped his arm, a quiet _‘okay’_ leaving him before they stepped around the corner.

And about half way down the hall, he saw the turn in with the sign hanging on the wall, ‘ _Medical Laboratory_ ’ written in bold, black print on a crappy, plain backdrop. His stress lifted just a little at seeing it and he limped down the hall, the kid at his side as they headed towards the turnoff-

They snapped to a stop, Rumlows’ body instantly starting to scream at him for the abrupt halt and he stared off down the hall to the right, echoes of gunfire suddenly starting up and his heart almost broke from his chest from the fast thought that maybe Winter was there. It was trying to break his ribs further, beating so fast and hard on the inside.

“SHIELD?” the kid chirped next to him, his hopes seeming high from just saying the word and Brock didn’t know what to think, or do. If it was Winter, he’d actually beam a genuine grin, but SHIELD… he may as well hang himself right now. If they got their hands on him, he was screwed and wouldn’t be able to see Winter. They wouldn’t allow it as soon as he was in their hands.

\--------------------

Another bullet, another body, another bullet, another body, another bullet… he actually took out two with that one.

James quickly ducked behind the stairs, Steve and one of the SHIELD agents following him. He edged the corner and took out another HYDRA agent, easily aiming and taking the shot, and another and another. They were going down easy, a body dropping right after another. And they were dying fast because of the amount of goodguy that were there. There was a full team from SHIELD and an almost full team of Avengers. They had no chance.

As soon as he saw an opening in their defences, James ducked out and let loose a magazine, taking out a few dozen in a matter of seconds before taking cover again. If he was keeping score, he’d say he had the highest kill count out of this room, just the bodies in this room. And by the occasional glances he’d had on the way in, they’d taken his words from earlier into consideration. ‘ _Don’t get in the way_ ’. It may have been harsh of him, but if they did get in the way, he could be accountable for what would happen. His current mood and the uniform were making him feel dark and lot more like the Soldier than he liked. But the faster he got to Brock, the faster he could get out of there and take everything off… the image of them together and James stripping came at a very inconvenient time...

“Buck,” he didn’t jump when Steve suddenly rolled over the top of the big crate he was ducked behind, watching as he landed gracefully in a crouch next to him, looking almost as perfect as they came in. His suit was a little more worn and had a few marks on it, but that was it. “You okay?”

“Not really the time to be asking that,” he was thankful it only came out gritty and rough instead of the growl he could feel inching its way up his chest. He turned and aimed his weapon over the top of the crate, taking out three agents in one go and then dropped back again, taking a glance at the other old soldier. “We need an opening. There’s a hall dead ahead of us that leads further into the base. The interrogation room and cells are at the back,” he remembered this one, only a little, but he’d memorized most of them and after his memories came back, it was like he had a mass of diagrams pinned up inside of his mind. This one wasn’t a big one, and he knew where most of the rooms were. He’d hid out in this one during DC after getting out of that chair. It hadn’t been that memorable.

“ _Then let's make some room, boys_ ,” Romanov… he forgot that they were using coms. It showed how often he went on missions.

“ _We’ll handle the opening, you guys make a break for it_ ,” Sam joined in, swooping to a stop behind the crate next to them, a crooked smirk on his lips. He was glad he was there, he made easy aerial attacks, along with Stark, who was just hovering in the air, using his should missiles to take out a good few guys at once.

“ _Why do you and Robocop get the fun jobs_ ,” the billionaire directed at Steve, making him chuckle next to him.

“ _Take Hunter and Bobbi with yo-_ ,”

“ _Nu-uh, prettyboy’s with me,_ ” Barton cut off Coulsons’ request, or order. He wasn’t too sure which it was, but Barton seemed happy to cut it off and keep the Englishman with him.

“ _What’s the point of me being the director when no one listens…_ ” that was actually the point of what being a director was about, but he was thinking that maybe they weren’t taking him as seriously as they should. “ _Fine, whatever. Barton, Hunter, and Bobbi, go with the Soldier and the Captain,_ ”

“ _Aw, Phil, no-,_ ” the archer whined. James closed his eyes in frustration for a moment, breathing easy before jumping up and taking out another handful of agents heading into the room. “ _The party’s out here_ ,”

“ _Go! Or I’m prohibiting your kennel license,_ ”

“ _Don’t you freakin’ dare! I’m going!_ ” kennel license? The confused and curious look on the uncovered half of his face must’ve shown because he heard the light chuckle from Steve and he glanced at him just as he inched a little closer, as if to whisper.

“Clint hangs out in the SHIELD dog kennel after he gets’ back from missions. To play, get piled on and give them some love,” animal lover, yeah he remembered something about that. He had a dog named Lucky. He’d made that very clear by rhyming the dog's name and his nickname together when he first met him. He hadn’t dropped the subject until months later. And he still occasionally brought it up.

“ _You’re gonna break my heart,_ ” the Englishman teased, feigning the sound of tears.

“ _Shut up,_ ” he whined just a little, sounding a little embarrassed… why was even thinking about all this? Why were they delaying their movements...?

“Can we go now?” he almost groaned, hearing Steve chuckle again as the former HYDRA soldier jumped up and took out more agents. Thankfully, there were a lot less of them running around, tell him that they were gradually taking out the entire base at this point.

“ _You’ve got an opening,_ ” he quickly shot up and over the crate, Steve following behind as gunfire engulfed them. They were about halfway across the room when Barton and the other two agents jumped out, quickly catching up and covering them as they ran towards the open doors. They slowed and took out agents on the way, his captain knocking one his way with his shield and James used the metal of his forearm to knock him out and dropped him to the floor. They did that a few times with James letting off his own bullets, Barton shooting his bow. The two at the back had batons and a gun. Close combat and ranged weapons.

They sprinted through the rest of the HYDRA agents and made it to the doors, running through them with Steve and James leading.

\----------

The halls were easy to navigate, way too easy considering that he’d been there before and the agents were just as simple to take down. No effort was actually used and James was feeling a little relieved, because it meant that they were still moving fast. And fast was good because it meant that they were clearing out the base and it was just a matter of time before he finds Br-

James stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening and his lip quivering at the sight ahead of him. All the blood, covering the ground around a chair in the centre of the room. It was dried and flaking, some patches were still wet, but it was thick in those areas, taking time to dry. He felt sick, nauseous. He felt like throwing up. The cold feeling sinking into him felt like it was freezing him in place and he couldn't... he couldn't. He tried to stop himself from gagging, his free hand reaching up and tearing his mask from his face to cover his mouth with his metal palm.

“Bucky? Bucky! It’s fine, it might not be Rumlows’. Or Fitz,” he clarified to reassure both teams. But there was blood everywhere. It couldn’t belong to just some random person. The only people they knew that HYDRA had captured were Brock at the engineer. It _had_ to be one of them.

“ _Shit_ ,” he snapped his gaze up to the open door on the other end of the room and saw a man tall, dark with some stubble. From the image he’d seen in the file, this was Grant Ward.

And as soon as the man jerked and sprinted in the opposite direct, James was on him, running as breakneck speed after him. He was faster, had the energy to spend and he was catching as they dashed down multiple hallways. He got so close and tackled him, slamming them both to the ground and he easily shifted, repositioning them until James was on top, his metal fist clenched and pulled back, ready to strike at the now fearful expression.

“Where is he?” he growled deeply, roughly and very inhumanly through his clenched, grinding teeth.

“Hopefully, dead, from bloodloss,” and in a split second he let his arm loose and heard the sickening crack of the metal connecting with Grant Wards’ face, breaking his nose, and he was coughing and sputtering blood over his chin, neck and clothes in a matter of seconds.

“WHERE IS HE!”

" _Longing,_ " ...

" _Rusted_ ," No...

" _Seventeen_ ," No, not... not again.

" _Daybreak_ ," James panted lightly, his flesh hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, his head throbbing. ' _Daybre_ -'

" _Furnace_ ," "Stop," he whined, struggling to stand up, swaying slightly. ' _Furna_ -'

" _Nine_ ," ' _Nine_ '. _No, please._

" _Benign_ ," ' _Benign_ '. he swallowed, his mind gradually going blank on the spot.

" _Homecoming_ ," ' _Homecoming_ '. James stopped moving, his expression and mentality contorting and breaking. 

" _One_ ," ' _One_ '. Blankness, nothing. He stopped altogether.

" _Freightcar_ ," ' _Freightcar_ '. 

The soldier stood, strong and firm and turned to face the new man in the room. A man he didn't recognize. He'd been the one to wake him? 

"Soldier?" the man on the floor shifted to stand, staring at him with wary wiring his movements. He was scared, like everyone he'd met... Agent Rumlow. ' _Where was he?_ '

... " _Ready to comply,_ " his thick, Russian accent and language echoed the hall. ' _What was his mission?'_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What'd you think? This chapter was a little bit difficult to write in James' POV because of the gunfire and stuff, like I said, I find it harder to write fight scenes xD 
> 
> I'm gonna do something a little different too. I usually ask what your favourite part was? And I'm still going to ask that, 'cause I love hearing what you liked about certain parts, but I'm also going ask what part you didn't like. Not like grammar-wise or if the dialogue was shitty. I mean like, uh...Example. "I really loved the whole Brock saying that Fitz was fanboying and I loved the conversation about Clint and the SHIELD dog kennels. I didn't like when James became the Winter Soldier again. The way he was forced back into it." 
> 
> That's the best example I could give xD But those are the bits I liked and disliked. What were yours? I thought it'd be a little interesting to get both :) 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you!!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the 16th chapter, the 17th will be up a teeny tiny bit later, as promised :) I hope ya'll enjoy. 
> 
> I'm still really sorry about before, but I'll try to make it up to you guys and have a few out. I'm free until Tuesday now, so yay!!. 
> 
> Also, for this chapter, I may have added in a little surprise, a character from another tv show. His name'll be up in the tags if you wanna know before reading. But I'd suggest keeping it a surprise for yourself. 
> 
> Again, I'm sorry and I'll try to catch up again. Thank you and I hope ya'll like this chapter and the next :)

“Don’t have to stick with me, kid. You wanna go, go,” Brock grumbled as the finally reached the MED lab, the former agent letting out a relieved sigh as he pushed the door open and found no one there, probably having evacuated or was with the rest of the guys where the guns were going off. Either way, no one was in the room and he could painfully limp around without the fear of getting caught.

“Even if it _is_ SHIELD, I can’t just leave you. You’re hurt-,”

“Ah, so-,” he cut in distastefully. “-you’re sticking with me so if SHIELD finds you, they’ll take me in too, since I’m wanted,” he suggested, not even turning to look at him, but instead, grabbing a handful of bandages and gauze in his free hand. And a bottle of booze from under one of the desks. _A secret stash_.

“No, I’m not. Believe it or not, I actually want to help you…” he paused. “Even though you used to be with HYDRA, you’re not now. That makes you a civilian and it’s my duty to keep you safe,” First off, it’d be the other way around because Rumlow would end up saving the kids ass if they got into more trouble… if he wasn’t so injured. And second, all that SHIELD bullshit went right to his head. He believed so hard in all that _‘justice’_ stuff just because it was in a handbook and he had some field training. He’d admit that it was all real looking when you get the badge, but it wasn’t the _holy grail_ of all that was good or anything. Brock never believed in it, because he was brought up in HYDRA, he was trained to lie, scheme, train until he bled. He was the darker of them. He was the opposite to this good, little Boy Scout, even if he wasn’t on the bad side anymore, he was still a bad guy. He was a lot more self-aware than others thought. He knew he was a scumbag.

His point being, even as a _former_ HYDRA agent, he still held the _‘bad-guy’_ label that he was given when he first started. He didn’t deserve saving.

“Nice speech,” he commented in a mutter as he put everything aside him on the table and moved to sit on a stool, straining as he did and then set his stick down. Brock took a breath and cleared his throat, achingly reaching out for his trousers, where his busted knee was and he then teared at the fabric, opening it up pretty far and almost heaving right then and there at all the dying skin and muscle tissue, black and browning where the air had eaten at it. He couldn’t see any unharmed skin because it was all covered in wet and drying blood, oozing and running down his leg. He couldn’t see any clean skin, nothing. His leg looked like what he imagined it would look like _without_ skin. “ _Shit_ ,” he whispered, shaking his head a little. He wouldn’t be able to tell what was bad or not or what needed covering like this unless he could tell by where the most pain was… which was most of his leg anyway. So that didn’t really help.

“That looks-,” the kid squeaked, cutting his own sentence off as he swayed slightly. Was this guy squeamish?! Seriously?

“Bad, yeah. I can see that,” he groaned through clenched teeth, ripping the fabric a bit more to give himself some room to work. Rumlow grabbed the bottle, turning the cap off and taking a really long swig himself before reaching it out and directing it a few inches above his knee, gradually tilting it and feeling his heart start beating that little bit faster as he waited for it.

He let out an ear-splitting yell through clenched teeth, feeling him grinding them while squeezing his eyes shut. The burn was killer and he almost seriously let out tears from the freezing burns his leg was giving off. And even when he pulled the bottle back, resting it on his upper thigh. It still hurt and he was twitching uncontrollably, shaking and panting fast with his heart trying to beat out of his chest.

… at least… from what he could tell. It was a ‘straight through’ wound… no bullet still stuck in his knee. _That_ was a plus, he guessed.

Brocks’ free hand was in a fist on the table, from elbow to hand was resting on the top and he slammed his solid fist a couple of times, trying to… to what? Distract himself with more pain? Take his reaction out on something? Whatever, it hurt like a motherfucker, sue him. He was allowed the violence after the shit Ward pulled on him.

“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_ ,” he repeated achingly, rocking his body just a little while the burn stayed, searing through his leg and sending the painful shock-waves throughout his body. An unending cold burn/sting. That was what it could be described as.

“You okay?” _resisting the urge to beat, resisting the urge to beat, resisting the urge to beat_. Of course he was _NOT_ fucking okay!

“Yeah, peachy,” Brock responded tightly with his tone and every letter oozing sarcasm, raising his frame and straightening it there, taking in air calmly, or at least as calmly as he could make it. It was like he stretched lightly and then carefully relaxed, trying to ignore the cold continuous burn of his limb. He reached the bottle to his mouth and took another long swig, leaving a little left before offering it to the kid. He looked unsure of whether to take it, being hesitant for a few seconds before he just finally reached out and quickly downed the last of the bottle.

Rumlow let out a calming breath before reaching out for the gauze and grabbing a few large pieces. He stretched them out until they lengthened and flattened out a bit and then delicately pressed one end over his bullet hole, wrapping the rest around, curving it until it stopped just over the ball of his knee. Thankfully it stuck there and didn’t move when he pulled his hand back and went to grab some more. It only stayed because it was sticking to the blood and alcohol. He stretched out more of the gauze and started wrapping the wide, thick white fabric around his knee. About a quarter of his calf and thigh were covered with his capped knee. Brock did the same with a larger piece, wrapping it right the around his leg.

He could barely feel the confinement because his leg was burning and numb at the same time, his nerves _literally_ shot and screwed. They were just giving off whatever feelings they could and were confused and dying.

Brock grabbed the wide bandages and started unravelling the first, lightly keeping one end down with his thumb as he begun threading the fabric and wrapping it around the gauze and wound, winding it tight to keep the pressure on and wincing slightly every now and then when he felt a shot of cold pain sizzling through his limb.

He tried not to make hurt expressions as he continued, managing to get it that little bit tighter and more secure. He didn’t need to explain how bad it seriously felt, because if it was Brock complaining, then you knew it was a serious injury. He never told anyone if he was hurt or not, so this would be a first if he whined about it.

He just kept wrapping, over and over until the gauze was completely covered and he had a thick, white cover right around his knee, stretching out about a quarters length, give or take(mostly give), both up and down his leg. All of the other wounds weren’t that bad. A few of his previous injuries were reopened, and blood oozed from them, but they weren’t severe. His leg was the worst of it and he was sure that he had a few broken and/or cracked ribs knocking around inside of him. He’d have to get them looked at soon, if he got out of there.

“Let’s go,” Brock wheezed and winced after grabbing the stick and hauling himself up from the stool, managing to actually let the tip of his boot touch the ground. He didn’t put any weight on it, only let it rest there. Though he’d picked it up as he moved, turning and limping his way towards the door with the kid walking ahead of him, keeping his eyes out again to make sure that the coast was clear.

He carefully walked through the doors, his eyes snapping both ways before crossing the hall and heading back down the way they came, back towards the bullets. If he was right, that was the way to the interrogation room too. Where he had the shit beaten out of him and where he had his knee capped.

Brock followed slowly after the kid, limping his way back down the halls they already came down to get to the MED-lab. And like before, they seemed to be alone, no other agents running around to spot them leaving. So, it seemed more likely that everyone was fighting, all hands on deck with guns a-blazing. 

He tried moving a little faster, trying to keep pace with the little engineer since it looked like he was unintentionally moving faster, unaware that he was actually speeding up. Probably from excitement of thinking that his team might be there to save his ass or whatever. If they were there, he’d have to hang back and get out of there himself. He wouldn’t be caught by SHIELD, not today or any other day. He needed to get to Winter, needed to see him. 

“Which way?” the kid suddenly stopped and glance between two hallways, one ahead of them and the other turning left. And he understood why it seemed to confuse him now. Both ways had yelling and guns going off, echoing off of the walls.

“Left’s the interrogation room,” he supplied, nodding in the direction ahead of them. He was reluctant, but he started walking-

“- _ady to comply_ ,” Brock stopped and shot his head to the hallway on his left, his brow knitting down in the centre. That voice sounded chillingly familiar, the language, the tone, the words, the dry, flat words...

Rumlow swiftly and achingly turned that way and headed down the hallway, ignoring the ‘ _Commander Rumlow_ ’ the kid called out loud and frantically, the voice being slightly echoed as he painfully limped his way down the hallway, tossing the stick to the side to try and get faster with his hands reaching out to the wall for better stability. He grunted and winced on the way, hurting and trying to ignore it in favour of making sure it wasn’t what he actually thought he heard. He wanted it to be Ward messing with him. He _hoped_ it was Ward messing with him.

He almost stumbled, letting out a wince when his boot hit the floor, his leg sending a horrible shot of pain up his limb and through his nerves. Brock managed to ignore it as he tried to move faster, his strong urge to make sure it wasn’t Winter.

\--------------------

He didn’t have a mission, nothing to complete. He was given no details on a potential target. Why was he unfrozen? And now that he thought on it, he felt no colder than he did when he was in the middle of a mission. He’d been freed from the ice a while ago, and yet he had no target. So why? Were they testing him? Where was Agent Rumlow? His handler wasn’t ther-...

Defected. The Winter Soldier had defected. After he failed his mission. Status: Compromised. He remembered. Why... And his handler. He’d defected too. AWOL after the Triskelion went down, after the head of HYDRA was taken out. He was hurt, was placed in the Burn-Ward in a DC hospital. The soldier had checked the data and intel to make sure that he’d survived and was fine. Major wounds. Several months in bed, but was reported missing after the first four.

He’d had an apartment after spending two years on Stark Tower, being surveyed by his failed mission, Steve Rogers. He owned a feline, lived a normal life for a few years...

He’d found his handler. 

He remembered all of this. HYDRA hadn’t wiped him this time. He wasn’t a HYDRA weapon, not anymore. He was… James Barnes… Bucky… Winter… Winter. He liked that name. Brock… gave it to him. Brock...

“ _Where’s my handler,_ ” his voice was dull, plain, deep and husky, with an edge of demand on his tone. His handler, Brock. He remembered taking care of him. Remembered sheltering him and risking a fair amount to hide him under his roof, in his home. He’d trusted him and wasn’t disappointed. He stayed and even helped around his home, fed his feline, Dugan, and even did chores after he was able to move and stand without any problems. He warned him for bugs in his own apartment and kept him safe, in the big picture. He could’ve alerted HYDRA, but he didn’t.

… he grew to think of him more than a companion and/or acquaintance… more than a friend.

“ _Your handler. Former Commander Brock Rumlow?_ ” the Russian agent questioned calmly, his voice deep and gruff and familiar. He was one of the men that would activate him after every de-freeze, to keep him obedient before wiping his mind. Anatoly Ranskahov, a brother of two with Vladimir Ranskahov. Drug lords and traffickers. He’d assumed that they were still in Hell's Kitchen, getting their hands even dirtier for a man, Wilson Fisk. He assumed wrong for the younger of the two.

“ _Dead, you won’t be seeing him again,_ ” lying. By the faint twitch he caught, the soldier knew that that was a lie. And not a very good one. Even without the twitch, he’d never believe it. Agent Rum-... Brock wouldn’t die that easily. He was too cunning, sly, and easy to lose with his advanced training and placement. He was crafty and too dangerous. He wouldn’t die just like that. 

But he didn’t question him. The soldier kept the information to himself. He’d been loyal to HYDRA, emphasis on ‘ _been_ ’. But he was still loyal to the former Commander. His handler or not, Brock was still a man he’d look up to and respect. 

Because _he’d_ treated him with respect and admired him, praised him, showed him that he wasn’t just some weapon, the fist of HYDRA. He’d saved him, and now the soldier would return that favour… a hundred times over. 

“What’s he saying,” Grant Ward demanded an answer, the tall agent turning his head in Ranskahov’s direction, but his eyes stayed trained on him, eyeing him carefully while he returned the dark, dull gaze. Before the activation, this man was his target. And he still was. Brock was to be extracted. 

_… Target: Acquired._

_… Action Plan: Take down, and extract._

“He just ask 'bout his ol’ handler,” Ranskahov replied to the agent, slightly butchering the English language with his lack of the tongue. He didn’t remember the man even speaking English, though it hadn’t entirely surprised him. The man wasn’t memorable. 

“If I put two and two together here… It sounds like you’re saying that Brock Rumlow is his handler?” he sounded rather disbelieving and uncertain, even after catching the former Commanders name and ‘ _his handler_ ’ in the same sentence. And idiot would understand this, but Grant Ward seemed to dislike this knowledge to the point that his expression contorted into one of an incredulous appearance. Maybe he’d thought that they were just there for the engineer.

“Da,” Anatoly responded in affirmation, giving one, slow nod along with it and solidifying the confirmation that little bit more. The irritation and frustration seemed to etch its way into his expression, his brow, corner of his nose and lips just twitching slightly at the knowledge. The Soldier almost smirked under his mask, in fact… he did. And he was thankful that the cover hid his face from the bridge of his nose, and the under areas of his eye and down, otherwise they’d have seem the faint raise in his cheeks. 

“This is-,” the agent cut himself off, his brows knitting for a moment as if in thought. “-this is why Pierce wanted him as his second…” … “That’s why Rumlow was meant to lead! He could control the Asset!” ...

“Was not ‘bout control,” the Russian cut in softly, his voice deep and gruff. “Agent Rumlow not control Asset… he respect him. He know how to talk to him, how to earn his trust and comradeship. They work together like no other Handler and Winter Soldier… he care for soldier,” … and Ranskahov would know. He’d been there to see some of it. He’d seen Brock jump right into warm him up and care for him as soon as he was pulled from Cryofreeze.

“The _Commander_ of HYDRA, _the man that was Pierce’s second_ , became friends with the _Winter Soldier_ ,” he summed up flatly. “Did they have tea-parties too?” … his second. The soldiers’ handler had been the next to rule and lead HYDRA. It shot down his former thoughts that the man had been anything but a grunt of the organisation, a man that had bee able to tame him and make him feel human, for the first time in _seventy years_.

If he thought deep enough on the subject… it _did_ actually make sense. The weapon of HYDRA shouldn’t be under the care of just anyone… and it seemed that he hadn’t been under the care of just _any grunt_. He’d been in the hands of the next figurehead.

And the sarcasm, he’d instantly took the snark and imagined Stark saying those exact same words if he’d found out about this information. He fully expected it if he did. It seemed exactly like something he’d say.

The soldier resisted sighing, assuming that he'd be punished for the lax interest in this conversation and the thought he'd had. Grant Ward seemed the type, Anatoly, not so much. Instead, he took his gaze and glanced between them, only his eyes shifting while he stayed perfectly sti-...

... The soldier unnoticeably knitting his brow for a split second, his heart beating a tad bit faster. About half a yard up the hallway where they were loitering, just peeking around the corner, was the reason he'd been there in the first place.

Brock... he swallowed thickly and quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. What'd you think? :) What was your favourite part!? There were two favourites for me. I can't really choose. There's Anatoly's appearance, he's my favourite character from the first season of Daredevil. And then there's James targeting Ward, giving himself a mission in the Winter Soldier persona. Www, and I'm sorry if it seemed like the Soldier had his own opinions and had his own mind, but I didn't realize until writing him that it was seriously freaking hard to write out that particular version of James. Seriously :/ Thought I'd do better than that. 
> 
> Anyway, what did you like? What part? Who? You enjoy? Please let me know, I really love talking to you guys :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter, pretty action packed and painful in places. Hell, even I winced and 'Ow'ed in a few parts. 
> 
> And, as promised, two chapters in one day for my crappy Thursday and lack of discipline :/ I'm still sorry about it. I felt like absolute crap and started writing as much as I could while I was over my sisters. I managed to get a few paragraphs in while she went out for her smokes, and I even stayed up later than usual to get two chapters done. After the movies, I started writing about 12:00-ish (My sisters fiance works nights so he goes to bed about that time, and my sister did too), I finished around... 3:00? I'm really tired, but keeping my promise meant more to me than getting sleep. And I really don't want to let anyone down, even if you say it's aright and that I didn't need to work until that time or whatever. It wouldn't have made a different, because what you guys think of this story and how it makes you feel means a lot more to me than a lot of things. I don't like disappointing you or myself and that's exactly how I felt about it when I missed that day. So, I'm really sorry and I'll try to make sure it won't happen again. (Though for the next parts of this series, I may space out days for each chapter, so I actually have time to make sure it's perfect. Maybe every other day or something)

His heart was racing, pounding in his chest and threatening to burst from his ribs right then and there. He hated it when he called something, jinxed it even.

Winter was down the other end of the hallway, standing familiarly still and solid, a recognisable pose and posture that made his skin crawl with anger, and he could feel his heckles rising at the thought that someone had re-activated the Winter Soldier in him. He could just about see the side of the other guys face, a familiar face that he really wanted to beat the ever loving shit out of at that moment. Anatoly, one of the Russian fuckers-, ‘ _sorry, brothers_ ’, drug-lords that were currently stationed in Hell’s Kitchen new York, where all that Devil of hell’s kitchen and Fisk thing was going down. Apparently, the pyjama wearing vigilante was making it pretty hard for the guys to work.

Brock sort of admired the guys for even working with that piece of shit psychopath. _He’d_ never go near the guy, that’s for damn sure.

The former agent let an easy breath pass through his nose, silent as he watched from around the corner. Winter actually seemed to be looking at him, but only occasionally, when he seemed to know when the other guys weren’t looking at him. Rumlow quickly raised his hand and hesitantly brought a finger to cover his mouth, a sign to stay quiet. He hoped that nothing changed here, that the guy still saw him as a handler, because this would work out a lot better for everyone. 

He remembered the soldier saying that he still saw him that way, still had a strong feeling that he would always think of him like that, and he even admitted that in front of Barton. Brock didn’t like the thought that they still had that kind of relationship, but it really would come in handy if he still did… may him being a ‘ _former agent_ ’ would hinder that role he’d play. 

Brock watched carefully as Winter lowered his head, just a little, to look as if he was staring at the floor, a sign to him. He understood and Rumlow almost let out an audible sigh of relief at the confirmation that, _yes_ , he still saw him as his handler. _Thank fuck for that_. So, what, was he still loyal to HYDRA too? Because he was standing there like he was siding them, staying there and waiting for orders. 

The former agents’ brow creased when he saw a faint blur of navy behind the three, quickly crossing the hallway behind them and stopping on the other side, peeking out. He and the Caps’ eyes locked for a second and the mans’ widened, his expression hardening right after and he stayed low against the corner, practically staring holes through him. Fucking glaring at him, he could almost feel the burn of the strong scowl hitting him, or was that his body still protesting and screaming at him because he’d gone into a full sprint to get down the hallway? … or a full limp, or whatever he’d done to get there as fast as he could. 

He swallowed thickly and turned his eyes back to Winter, seeing that he wasn’t looking over at him. Ranskahov and Ward were watching him while chatting and he couldn’t hear a word. Brock quietly reached behind him and pulled out the gun he’d stolen from that guard the kid took down. Said kid was actually right next to him, crouched low and peeking around his legs and around the corner. He was being a lot more subtle and careful though, keeping back and out of sight. Rumlow was only in sight so Winter could see him there. 

Ward wouldn’t be able to see him unless he stood directly behind the soldier and Anatoly wasn’t in the way. This actually meant that Brock wouldn’t be able to get a straight shot unless he stepped into eye-line of the little basterd. And stepping into his view wasn’t really an option if he wanted to stay as fit as he was right that moment. He was slow and injured, meaning he wouldn’t be fast enough to get out of the of one of Wards’ bullets. He was fast, he knew that from training him, meaning, he’d get hurt, worse than he was now.

He’d already thought of an idea of how he could actually get a shot off and manage to hit him, but that would put the kid at risk, and he’d rather not use him as bait just in case Ward had gotten faster. And he’d be to blame as to why the kid got hurt and he didn’t want any of that swirling around in his head. 

“Is that-,”

“Yeah,” he cut off the kids whispered, unfinished question as he loaded his thieved weapon and held it professionally in both hands, his palm under his fist holding the gun, his finger an inch away from the trigger. He’d have to do something, and so far, his only ‘ _not-so-good_ ’ options were, ‘use the kid as bait’, or ‘get hurt getting a shot in’. Both were terrible, but the first was out of the question… so, the latter was all he had.

“Get back, kid,” he eased out, taking slow and easy breaths as he glanced around the corner again, seeing Winter now eyeing him, taking a second to knit his brow in confusion at him. Cap was doing the same, but he was gradually inching out, like he had his own plan about to be put into action. 

And after one last sigh, Brock spun out, now in the open and he aimed the gun.

“Rumlow!” Ward yelled as the former agent let off a bullet, and then another and another. The little shit was fast, fast enough to get his own out to shoot at him, two bullets flying before Rogers jumped out and slammed his shield into the shits’ back and sent him flying to the ground.

“ _Fuck_!” Rumlow dropped back and hit the ground almost in unison with Ward, the shots having hit him and he was in pain all over again, like he was knee capped for the second time. The bullets went straight through his right shoulder and collarbone and he yelled out, the kid suddenly at his side and calling his name. 

Brock groaned and whined and panted and winced and whatever other word that could be described as a show of pain and he ended up turning and crouching into a sort of fettle position on the floor, on his non-hurt shoulder. There were actual tears in his eyes at this point and he hated it. Even hated it more when he managed to open his eyes to see Winter beating the fuck out of Ward, his metal fist continuously connecting with his face, over and over.

It was a great thing to see, the basterd getting the worse end of it, since no one fucked off the soldier, but he knew that the guy would regret it all later, that he may have nearly taken another life… 

“... Wint-er,” he winced through clenched teeth, his eyes staring directly at the man. He was too quiet. Rogers was there, trying to grab at the soldiers arms to stop him, but Winter easily shrugged and shoved him back to continue the beating. Ward was practically comatose. 

“Win- ter!” he tried, a little louder with his voice deeply cracking and his body burning him, and the metal arm paused, mid-thrust. He was glad that he stopped there and then, ‘cause Brocks’ panting, light breaths, injuries and exhaustion were getting to him. The edges of his vision were blurring, just like earlier, when the pain of the bullet to the knee was too much. He was starting to pass out. 

And just like that, Winter was at his side, dropping next to him and trying to get him to lie on his back as he gradually bled out again, wincing and hissing and letting him move him into a ‘ _supposedly_ ’ comfortable position. _It was definitely NOT comfortable_.

“Brock? Brock,” the soldier called to him and he’d only realized just then that he’d closed his eyes while trying to breath and hide the damn pain. He couldn’t move, at all. He couldn’t and didn’t want to because he knew that he’d want to end that damn pain. He hated it. He needed something to take the edge off. Back in the burn-ward they were just shy of overdosing him on morphine. Hell, he’d go for that again. 

“I’d say m’fine, but that’d be a huge fuckin’ lie,” he attempted to joke, his husky and rough laugh just making it worse and he winced. But what made it a little better was hearing Winters’ light chuckle, a sad one, but hey, he made him laugh.

“Brock, hey,” he winced again and tried to ease his breathing up a bit, trying not to pant and make his chest heave so fast. Barton was there, standing behind Winter, looking down at him with a deeply furrowed brow. It just made him laugh, and he instantly regretted it.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that, Pigeon, and I’ll start to think you actually like me,” Rumlow wheezed out, hearing the rasping and roughness in his voice. He was dulling, everything, his voice, body, head and his eyes were getting heavy. He’d be out like a broken like in a few minutes, maybe even seconds at this rate. And by the growing frantic shifting of Winters’ eyes, he was getting even more worried than before, if that were possible.

“Asshole,” the archer laughed down at him as the captain stomped up behind them and rounded them until he was standing over him too. The kid was gone, ran off to the side to… probably a member of his team. He was sure that he’d seen a few others there apart from Rogers.

“ _Major_ Asshole to you, birdboy,” he answered before trying to focus on the big guy, his eyes darkening at the edges.

“Rumlow,” it was scarily soft, way too soft for him after seeing the former commander there. The hell had Winter told him… The cap reached a hand up to his ear. “Emergency evac, man down with multiple bullet wounds and a heavily and severely injured leg. Make-shift aid having been attempted-,” attempted? He did a bang-up job on his leg. That bandage was fucking art. “-significant blood loss and definite damage, long term if I’m right,” the last part was said as he crouched and really looked over the leg, even with the bandage, anyone could probably see the way he was angling it so he was barely touching the floor. Hell, he couldn’t straighten it at all. It hurt too much to move it.

“Bullet, straight through,” he panted quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

“Scratch that, definite long term damage,” he had to close his eyes for a second, his sight going dark and he was dizzy, completely disoriented. He was almost spinning. That feeling that sometimes came up while lying in bed? When it felt like everything was tilting? He was having that and he was sure that he needed to throw up. His chest and abdomen muscles started convulsing and he choked for a second.

“Brock?” he gasped slightly at his name being called, coking again.

“He’s going into shock!”

“ _Immediate Evac_!”

“ _Brock_!”

“ _Bro_ -,” a ringing in his ears and he felt his body go light, his head dropping and all he could hear was heavily muffled noises and a continuous ringing in his head.

\--------------------

They were running fast, sprinting down the way they came after having carefully placed Brock on a carrier. He was bleeding out, the significant loss taking effect and he was starting to shake, his muscles contracting and convulsing and curling in places. His legs’ bandage was turning red, the blood starting spread through from the tense, gripped muscles. It was too much on him, on his body.

They ran through the interrogation room, trying to ignore the blood that he’d now realized was Brocks, his leg and probably more, though a majority was probably his leg… And it seemed that ignoring it hadn’t been an option.

They continued to run through the halls, sprinting as fast as they could with Brock in the carrier. And it hadn’t taken them long before they re-entered the main room at the front of the building where a load of SHIELD agents were cleaning up the wounded, helping them out and a few others were doing other stuff. He didn’t give a damn where the other Avengers were. Romanov had saddled up next to them though, running alongside them as they ran out of the building and headed towards the recently moved Quinjet.

As soon as they were in, everyone else started pouring in too. All of them gathering and moving to take a seat while he, Steve and Clint stayed close to a presumably unconscious Brock.

He wasn’t dead, he wouldn’t die! There was no damn way of that happening! He’d fix him. Brock would live and they could stay together on his floor at the tower until they found a secure place. James wasn’t going to let him die, he wouldn’t let him just leave him like that without telling him how he fucking felt!

“Brock,” his voice cracked as he reached out a hand, his metal one, and delicately rested it over where his heart was, his sensors picking up the ‘too-fast’ and shallow beats of his heart. It was a dangerous vibration and he really didn’t like it. It wasn’t an ideal beat and it was scaring him to no end. He wouldn’t die, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let him, not yet.

He wanted to protect him, live with him, smile and laugh and eat together. He wanted him to stay so they could watch crappy movies, binge watch tv shows that Barton listed for him when he lived in the tower a few years ago. He still hadn’t watched The Martian, Bronze, Once Upon A Time and Prison Break. Brock was the one that mentioned the last one. He’d said that it was pretty good and was worth watching it. James wanted to watch it with him… he wanted to do so much with him and-

“Stay with me, Brock,” he whispered weakly, panting quickly as he loomed over, lingering and staring like he was the only thing and/or person there with him. It genuinely felt like that too. He could only stare, watching the fast raises and falls of his chest and the strained breaths he was letting out, wheezing and panting in pain and almost comatose.

“Don’t worry, Buck…” James stiffened, though he never took his eyes and hand off of Brock. “He’ll be fine. I promise,” he didn’t want that promise. Just in case it couldn’t be kept. But… he hoped more than anything that he’d pull through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's maybe 300-400 words shorter than the normal chapters, but I ended this one there to make it easier to start the next one. I had plot-bunnies... or continuation-bunnies xD It's necessary for the intro into the next one and you'll see what I mean when I post it :) 
> 
> So, what'd you thin of this chapter? What'd you like most? What was your favourite part? To be completely honest, this chapter was dark to me, so I don't really have a "favourite" part. I guess... Brock trying to make jokes while bleeding out on the floor? I seriously didn't like writing Grant Ward shooting him again. It was so bad and I feel terrible for hurting our baby... our very deadly, manly, former commander baby xD 
> 
> Let me know what you thought, and like I say in every chapter at the end, I really do love hearing what you guys think and what your favourite part was. I seriously have fun talking to you and hearing what you have to say :) Talking to you is one of the best parts about this story.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 18 chapters, wow!! I really didn't think it'd get this far. Initially I thought it be in the early double digits, like 12-15, not 18, and we still have a few left to go, like a handful. I can count on one hand how many we have left. 
> 
> Rather sad to realize, but there really isn't a mass of chapters left to do, but then we'd be onto the sequel to this, which is an awesome thing to think about :) I can't wait to get into it. I'll have to set timelines too. This is about 3-4 years after what happened in DC. The next part, maybe a year later? Half a year later? Meh, I'll work it out. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

“With the activation, did you feel the urge to comply?” one of the doctors, or nurses asked. She was flashing a light in his eyes, going back and forth as he reluctantly answered and occasionally didn’t answer. They were in a bright SHIELD hospital, not that far from the Avengers tower. Half of the building was a normal medical practices and facility, while the other half was a SHIELD medical facility. Half of the population in the build had no idea unless they went underground and then they’d see the big bird symbol on the walls.

“Yes,” James replied flatly, his voice now deep and rough as he practically glared that the flashes forming in his vision. He wanted to leave. He was meant to be in the surgery room right now, watching over Brock as they operated, but no, Coulson wanted to sit him aside to have a med-check after one of the two SHIELD agents that ran with them reported catching Ranskahov triggering the Winter Soldier activation.

He was thankful to Barton having tried to sway them in not saying anything about it and saying that the Avengers could handle him, which all the other vouched for too, but the woman went off and reported it. The archer seemed to have swayed the English guy into not saying something, hell he even tried talking to the woman. There was something going on between him and Barton, he was sure.

“Did it trigger you immediately?” technically, it didn’t. During the time he was in HYDRA, the activation worked instantly, as soon as they were two words in, he was fully in the Winter Soldier persona, the other words were meant to solidify it for a number of days. But they were half way through the trigger when it started taking effect.

“No,” he answered deeply, blinking his eyes after the flashlight was taken away and she started writing in her notepad again, writing down his reply and reactions.

“How did you react?” that, he wouldn’t answer and by the glancing he received from her, she was hesitant to repeat the question. He wouldn’t answer because he’d rather not go over and think about it. It hurt, his body locked up and it felt like he was being controlled, yet his mind was still there. It was as if there were two minds and one had physical control, the other fighting for it. The Winter Soldier protocol and James had been internally fighting for the advantage to take control.

“Physically?” no answer left his lips. “Mentally?” again, no answer.

James didn’t want to think about it. He would rather not re-live the feeling of having the Winter Soldier trying to win over his body to listen to any other HYDRA agent again. It wasn’t an ideal thought and it was horrifying to think that it had nearly happened again.

“Was there any pai-” he wouldn’t answer and he didn’t have too when he’d heard the door to the room open.

“That’s enough,” James snapped his head up to Steve standing in the threshold, framing the doorway with a soft frown sitting on his face like he’d heard all this. He may have, he’d been in the next room with the Director and he’d assume that they watched him, in case of an outburst or any lingering effect of the activation. Either way, he was thankful and James swiftly stood up and strode over to him as he turned and went to walk away.

The soldier followed him as he walked down the hallway, turning a corner and another and another and then walking down a few sets of stairs. They were uncomfortably quiet. And he knew that it was because of what had happened. How James had just ran off and almost killed another man with his very own fist. He’d almost killed Ward. The man was in custody, along with Anatoly, who’d taken a few of the shots Brock had let off. He was sure his brother would come for him.

Steve was probably questioning everything at this point, questioning himself and Brock and James and the Avengers and SHIELD. That little frown already told him that he was blaming himself for something and he couldn’t actually figure out what. There was nothing to blame him for. It went smoothly up until James saw Ward and then gave chase, and that was _his_ fault, not the Captains’.

The soldier stayed quiet as they continued walking, following behind the silent man as they walked through a set of double door and stepped through a bigger set of doors and then stopped. James nearly ran into him, stopping inches from his solid back and he took a step around the man, his eyes snapping wide open when he saw the lit up room on the other end of a long, glass window.

Brock was on the other side, lying on his back with blue paper everywhere, blood everywhere. There was a bag of blood hanging above him. An extra large pack with a tube running down into the former agents’ body. He could see a few more set aside, ready to be replaced to keep him alive during the surgery. It made him sick to see the man like that and he couldn’t help the watery sniff that left him as he took gradual steps towards the glass and stopped there, pausing and just watching. And from here he could see the thick, white tube in his mouth and wires littered everything and attached to him. The beeping monitor showed that his heartrate was still low.

“He’s lucky,” James swallowed thickly and turned his head to look over his shoulder at his captain. There was a sad smile on his face and he shifted to hold out his hand, straightening out his arm and the soldiers’ heart skipped wildly for a few seconds. There was a large plaster of the inside of his arm. “I was a match,”

As soon as he’d said it, James sprinted across the room and practically tackled Steve, hearing him laugh a little when he almost threw them both to the floor. He held tight to him, holding him and sniffing wetly again. He could cry, he really felt like he could cry. There were arms around him and they just held each other, Steve patting his shoulder blades. He deserved way more than anything James could give him. He’d saved Brock for him, gave him his blood because James hadn’t been a safe match. He’d live, and that was a confident assumption because of the serum. He’d heal fast as soon as he was out of surgery.

“Thank you,” he spoke weakly, feeling the heat and warmth of the thought that Brock would live spreading through him.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he muttered back, pulling away just a little to look at him. His smile was back, wavering a little. “Seeing you happy and alive is the only thing I’ve wanted since finding you. And if Rumlow makes you happy then-...” he shrugged. “-whatever. I’ll have to deal with that,” he actually smiled without faltering now. “I still think he’s a jackass, and I’m not going to forget what he’s done, but I’ll have to overlook it,” he shrugged again and then stepped back out of the hold, James doing the same. “Though, to be honest. I don't think I’d have to deal with him at all. As soon as he’s walking again, I’m pretty sure you ain’t gonna be leaving your floor. Just remember to put a sock on the door or something,” he was starting to tease now. That growing smirk was torturing and he could feel the heat rising to his face.

“Oh, like you and Stark do?” James swiftly crossed his arms and aimed one of his own smirks at the captain. He was glad that Steve stopped flustering every time they were mentioned now too. He had great comebacks and fighting words now that it was in the open and he wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

“We can’t put it on the door because we’re usually using it as a gag,” he shrugged and he actually shivered at the unwanted image.

“Too much information. I don’t wanna know about your bondage kink,” he rubbed roughly at his eyes with a laugh. To be honest, it was already too late. The whole ‘ _walking in on them_ ’ made sure of that.

“Too late,” he said in an almost sing-song attitude.

“Punk,” he groaned, moving to sit on the edge of one of the waiting chairs against the wall. Steve joined him with a laugh. They sat like that for some time, making little bites at each other and commenting on things and laughing and chuckling a little. Just normal things that they used to do before HYDRA, before 1943-1944. This was Steve and Bucky again. And he’d missed those times. He really missed them.

If HYDRA had never existed and Brock had been born in their time, everything would’ve been perfect. They’d have found a way to be together, maybe buy a farm away from everyone, like Barton had done. A safehouse of sorts. They could’ve lived in peace and happiness. Steve would’ve understood in that time, the Commandos too. They never cared for that kind of stuff. They wouldn’t have judged. They would’ve called for a celebration, to get wasted and eat everything in their fridge. It’d be perfect…

\----------

He was stable. That was what the surgeon had said to him and Steve after the surgery was finished. They’d wheeled him from the room, sending him to another one where he should wake up later. The doc said that it would’ve taken a few days for him to heal up enough to wake up with average blood, but because it was super serum, he should be healed enough around late evening. So, maybe 7 or eight, probably a little later than that.

James was there, watching him from his bedside seat. He didn’t want to move, wasn’t going to until he saw some sign that he was waking or stirring. He was pressing back into the chair, arms crossed and he was just staring so hard. Steve was there too, but he was hanging around by the door, watching from his place. He’d been in and out of the hospital room, talking to agents and other members of the Avengers. Stark had come by a few times to check in on Steve and him, asking if they needed anything.

The agents were the worst part of this. Coulson had been adamant that he wanted Rumlow under his supervision, to ask questions as soon as he woke up. James had almost snapped. He’d yelled at him, almost launched himself at the man and the few agents that came to check if he was awake. They were checking to see if he woke up and the soldier was really tempted to get Brock out of there and take him to the tower, where there was a more than decent med-lab where they could look after him. Stark could easily tell JARVIS to lock the building down to anyone outside of the Avengers, Pepper and the registered staff.

Every time an agent came by, he was tempted to just rip their throats out and that wasn’t a good thing, especially for him. It was bad, very, very bad. The last time he felt like this was not too long after he’d been brought into the tower, when SHIELD agents kept asking for _him_ , and Steve turned every one of the away.

He was irritated, frustrated and he just wanted to see Brock wake up and be okay. He wanted to move him to the tower, move him into his floor… _their_ floor? He wanted it to be _their_ floor. He’d be happy to hear it be called _theirs_ instead of just his.

This strangely sounded like he wanted Brock to move in with him…

“I told you he’d be fine,” James let a tired smile curve into his lips as he kept his eyes on the former agents unconscious and lightly plastered face, little cream strips covering cuts and open bruises. He _did_ tell him, and it was a huge comfort to know that he’d kept that promise from earlier. Even if he hadn’t needed it, or realized that he’d actually needed it and denied wanting it.

“You did,” he replied quietly, the soft smile still on his face and he was still gazing at Brock. He wouldn’t look away until he was awake, and even then, he’d be reluctant to move his gaze.

James shifted slightly, inching himself forward until he was resting his crossed arms on the mattress, next to Brocks’ bare arm, the skin a little lifted where the tubing was slipped in and where the butterfly needle was still stuck in his hand. He looked him over and then hesitantly reached out his metal hand, gently and carefully gripping the flesh hand lying limp on the bed.

James could feel Steve watching, every now and again looking away. He’d eventually heard the door open and then close, the captain calmly walking out to give him some space and privacy. And from the window, he could thankfully see him sit on one of the chairs a few feet away, definitely staying in the vicinity to stop SHIELD agents from knocking or just walking in to interrogate a severely injured man.

He gently gripped the limp hand, his thumb running the length of his knuckles as a sign of comfort while he slept. He hoped Brock could feel it, maybe had an idea of who was doing it. He had no clue what anyone would feel while unconscious like this. James had never been like that, never beaten and almost killed until he ended up in surgery and was kept under. He didn’t know. Didn’t know if he could feel it. He hoped he could.

The hand twitched, but just barely, and James snapped his gaze to the limb and then up to his face, still unconscious and breathing easy. He was still asleep, but his hand twitched. Could he feel it? He kept gently moving the thumb back and forth, slow, comforting. He hadn’t imagined it. It was a sign that the serum was finally showing its amplified effects. It was working.

James kept a loose hold on his hand, his thumb still softly running over his knuckles. He kept his small smile from slipping, it now directed at Brock as he lay there.

He seemed to only start smiling genuinely when this man was around, only recently had he actually let one slip onto his face and he didn’t need to deny it. The man brought it out in him. Made him happy, as Steve said. And he did. He made him happy. He was a constant reminder that he wasn’t a weapon, nor would be ever be. His heart, Brock had shown him that he had one, even though he knew that he’d be in trouble with Pierce afterwards.

James reached out his flesh hand, gently placing it over where his heart was. He could feel the beating, slow, easy and calm. He kept it there, watching as he took calm breaths. The soldier matched them, almost yawning. He was tired, from before and now. It wasn’t late, but he’d stayed up last night with the Avengers and SHIELD to get a game plan for extraction and retrieval. It had taken ages. A day and a half. He could’ve easily stayed awake for hours, though he was sure that Steve would complain about not getting enough sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you think? This chapter was actually really nice to write, like it brought some warm fuzzy-fuzzy to my cold crappy-ness from the last chapter. 
> 
> So, my favourite part in this one is actually split between three parts. I really can't choose. My first favourite it that Steve helped Brock with a blood transfusion to keep him alive, the serum being a big part of the need for him to survive. Then there's Steve and James joking around for like, the first time in ages, him thinking that it was like the old days. And then there's James reaching out to hold his hand while Brock was completely out of it. 
> 
> I seriously can't choose between those three xD What was your favourite part? Or parts, plural. 
> 
> Thank you so much, you awesome people. I can seriously say that I really love you all :) You're the reason this story has gone this far and that I even had the ideas for a shit-ton of sequels after this. You're the reason I'm having so much fun and that I'm looking forward to writing more for these two. I seriously love you!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Rumlow Chapter, the 19th one too :) Pretty proud of how far this story's actually gone, and I have you guys to thank for that. Without the amazing feedback and all the talking I do with a few of you, this might never have passed into the double digits. And here it is, as 19. :) I seriously owe you guys so much :) So thank you.
> 
> Also, sad to say, but I think there may only be 3 or 4 chapters left, if that. I've thought it out and looked at the summary for each chapter I have left and I have three, including this one. I've spaced them out a little, so 4 chapters left, at most?
> 
> It shouldn't be too bad, because that means that I can get into the second part to this series and it's pretty good from what I've written out :) Hope to see you in that story too :) Thank you.

He was blurry, not just his eyesight, or mind, or body. _He_ , just in general. Everything just felt too heavy and he was too calm and pretty disoriented, he was physically throbbing, feeling his blood pumping thicker in different places and his muscles ached and pulsated. He was sure he was meant to be in way more pain than he actually was. If he remembered right, he’d been shot, _again_ , by Ward. His leg, his chest, he’d had the shit beaten out of him. He remembered all that blood loss. Was he actually dead and that was why he wasn’t hurting that bad? Damn...

Brock let a gradual sigh leave his lips before he attempted to even open his eyes, finding it hard from how heavy they actually were. He was thankful that it wasn’t bright behind them. The ceiling he dizzily stared up at was dark, the light above him was turned off. It gave him the impression that it was maybe the middle of the night, when the lights went off and the nurses left, a few taking the later shift… back in hospital, great. He’d had enough of these damn buildings.

He swallowed thickly and raised his hand, wincing as he reached it to his face and rubbed at his sore face, minding the… plasters? Yeah, plasters. He had a large square plaster-patch on his jaw, between his chin and where the jaw curved up to his ear. It was way sore under it, so he thought back to when Ward was beating him in that chair. It must’ve been that side he punched. He could barely remember that remarkably fast torture session.

And speaking of torture, his leg was itchy as fuck, where he was capped. He tried to pick up his other hand, wanting to at least satisfy the crappy feeling. He wouldn’t say it was unbearable, but it was annoying the hell out of him.

He couldn’t move it, couldn’t pick it up, and not because it was hurt or anything, no. It didn’t hurt as bad as his other arm. Something was weighing it down.

Brock knitted his brow tiredly and held his breathe as he achingly turned his head to the side, his eyes opening a little wider and the frown quickly disappeared at seeing Winter. He was asleep, completely out while resting his upper half on the bed next to him, his head on his bent arm and the metal hand was holding his, holding it there. He looked tired, a faint look of bags under his eyes, and he really didn’t look like he was in peace. He was frowning in his sleep. That was a stress thing. He was stressed and it was showing while he was unconscious.

He took a breath and turned his hand over, feeling the discomfort of the needle in the back of his hand pressing into the bedsheet, but he ignored it and gripped the metal, wrapping his fingers around it along with his thumb. He was ignoring the annoying itch in favour of just staying like this, holding onto Winter while he slept. He was sure that the soldier did it while he was out too. How else would he wake up with his hand already in that surprisingly warm, metal hand. Good to know the fighting didn’t screw with his coolant system. He’d had to have Stark fix it. Or Brock, he knew a few things having spent years with the guy.

He let out a yawn, taking in air for a second before holding it for a second and then letting it out, his other hand reaching back up to rub at his slightly watering eyes. And he must’ve jerked a little or something, because there was a quick intake of air right next to him, like he just gasped awake. Brock watched him, swallowing and keeping his tired eyes on the stirring soldier while he yawned widely, like _he_ just did. And he even rubbed his eyes too, his flesh hand lifting to wipe them.

“Nice nap?” he croaked the question quietly, his voice deep, gritty and rough from whatever the hell he went through after getting out of that base. He was pretty sure that he’d gone through a shit-ton of surgery stuff. Brock let a slight curve turn up the corner of his mouth, a soft smirk forming as Winter snapped his eyes up to him, wide and watery, but only wet from just yawning.

He could faintly see the gradual increase in his breathing, his chest expanding and falling a little faster, and then the soldier was suddenly on him, his hand being swapped to the flesh one so he could lean over him, the metal one keeping him up by pressing into the mattress next to him. As soon as he’d deemed himself stable or something, Winter leaned in, pressing their mouths together fast, but gentle, minding his injuries and probably trying to be as careful as ever.

His train of thought died completely at that point, the hot, moist lips putting everything around them on pause. It was warm, comforting, he was experimenting, keeping the touch gentle and he was only moving against him to see if he did in return. To which he gladly responded, a lot less timidly. He turned his head just a little, slotting their mouths perfectly as he gradually reached his free hand up and gently wrapped his fingers loosely around the back of his neck, hair falling around his digits and threading through his fingers while he tilted his head again, to kiss slowly, over and over, breaking contact and then reconnecting. It was way better than what he’d imagined. He’d kissed before, yeah a few times. He was experienced, had a decent amount considering his old job. But actually kissing Winter was one hell of an experience.

They say that there’s fireworks and hot passion and love suddenly tying them together. He had none of that.

What he currently had was warmth, spreading through him, filling him. His heartbeat got faster. He felt so much comfort, like he was being gradually wrapped in this warm, loving blanket with Winter himself, being cuddled by, and cuddling him. All he could actually imagine, to put it into words. Was a freezing Winter, wrapped up in a shit-ton of blankets with Winter and they both had hot chocolate while lying in front of a roaring fire, on the carpeted floor while cuddled up to each other, looking over a book or watching the tv. And throw Dugan in there somewhere.

He tried pressing closer, actually trying to lean up in the bed in his state. They were still kissing slowly, comfortingly, over and over until James reluctantly broke the contact and breathed against him, staring down at him. Brock stared up, his smirk growing. But the look didn’t seem to say anything to Winter. He seemed hesitant, his eyes roaming over him frantically, as if looking for something.

“Damn, Winter,” he breathed with a slight pant and wheeze. His voice was a little higher and more gritty, but he really didn’t care. Brock still had his hand on the back of his neck and gently pulled him back in, tilting his head right before bringing them back together and kissing him again, and again. He could actually feel the muscles and tension easing up under his hand and above him. He was relaxing into him and he loved it. Brock liked that he had that effect on him, just like the morning he freaked out because he’d cuddled him. He was basically the soldier stress-ball… person, thing.

“Ehem,” the pulled away from each other fast, both snapping their eyes to the dark skinned woman standing in the threshold of the door. Her arms were crossed and he foot was tapping the floor and all he could think was that she’d whoop their asses without a second thought, and then he thought sassy. Yeah, he remembered her. She was one of the best SHIELD nurses he’d had after he’d managed to get hurt on a few STRIKE missions. She had attitude and she could get scary if her patient didn’t listen. He’d been on the receiving end _once_. _And.Only.Once_.

“Tynichia,” he greeted tightly with a bit of a wheeze to his voice. “Long time, no see-,”

“Uh-uh, you keep that mouth shut. You talk to me and I’ma ground you,” she pointed her notepad at him and he wanted to disappear into the blankets. He was already trying to sink into the mattress. She clearly didn’t mean ‘ground him’ as in sending him to his room. No, she was thinking the painful kind of grounding.

“Sit down, honey,” she gestured to Winter and the seat as she begrudgingly stepped further into the room and got closer, still practically glaring at him before looking up to the things that were attached to him. Rumlow just watched her for a few seconds, looking her over and relaxing as she seemed to stay calm. He knew full well that she could floor him while he was in this state. And he actually liked her, so he _did_ feel bad.

“In my defence, HYDRA had a better pay,” he muttered as a joke, trying to get a reaction out of her.

“Better pay, ma ass,” she reached up to one of the liquid bags and clipped one of the tubes shut. She then opened one of the bedside drawers and pulled out a little cardboard bowl with medical stuff filling the bottom. She dropped it on the bed by his hip. “I’m gettin’ you off of the liquids,” she mentioned at his brow raise. That was a good thing. At least he was healing, it meant that he’d be out of there soon, hopefully.

“Trying to get rid of me, T?” he let a smirk cross his lips at the look he received. And she purposefully pulled the tube out quicker than she should have, pulling a hiss from him.

“I’d say sorry, but I ain’t,” she patched up the hole where the tube had been and then left, her posture clearly satisfied as she walked out. Brock had his hand over the patch, feeling the heat of his hand through the fabric and he gradually turned his head to see a straining smirk on Winters’ face, like he was holding back a full blown grin.

“You find this funny?” he asked rhetorically, seeing him strain a little more while his head ducked a little, his shoulders raising.

“Maybe a little, yeah,” he was strangely laid back while he sat in the armchair, watching him from there. Brock was glad that he was calm, but it was odd to be there and have Winter with him. He woulda thought that there’d be SHIELD agents running around after him and maybe Rogers would be there. James was sitting there like everything was normal and no one would come in to take him back to a base to question him. _Did Steve and Winter have something to do with that?_ If that was really the case, he’d try to get up to kiss the man himself.

“You okay?” he suddenly asked, now calm and all smirking aside. He remembered Ward getting the shit beaten out of him after Brock was shot, James having been the one to do the beating. He remembered the blood on his face, dripping to the floor, and there was blood before that, when he peeked around that corner. Winter must’ve hit him before he showed up too.

“I’m fine,” he crossed his arms over his chest, typical defensive reaction and Brock scoffed, regretting it right after. “Seriously,”

“Bullshit, something was off with that activation back at the HYDRA base,” he pointed out, seeing a frown slip over the soldiers features and he glanced away thoughtfully. “Even _I_ could see it. You were still you,”

“... Not completely,” he muttered back, looking hesitant as he glanced back over at him. “I could feel the protocols and wiring try to override me, like The Winter Soldier was trying to take control,”

“You’ve been out of the ice and out of that wipe machine too long for it to work perfectly. The trigger must’ve been half-assed,” it made sense. The longer he was out, the weaker the trigger. It was a great thing to hear, meaning he’d have control of himself at all times and the Asset wouldn’t be a problem. Brock knew about the time base of it. He’d known from when he became the guys’ handler. Pierce told him to keep to the times and he’d learnt that it was because of all the memories and stuff. It would start coming back the longer he was out. _The Vibranium block wall in his head would start to break down_. There wasn’t actual wall in his head, he’d just given a metaphorical example.

“Yeah,” Brock didn’t like the tone he’d used. It sounded like he was thinking too much, maybe blaming himself too, by the look on his face.

“Get your ass on the bed,” he requested as he tried to physically move over, putting so much effort into moving just a few inches to give Winter some space next to him. He held back the winces and hisses and eventually actually managed to shift over enough for him. Brock actually felt like he hit an achievement with how hard he ignored all that pain.

“What?” he glanced over at him, seeing the taken back look on his face, like he’d only just registered what he said, or maybe that he said something sexual or lewd or whatever.

“Get your ass on my bed,” he gestured to the now empty, but warm spot on the mattress, eyeing him with a dead-serious look.

“No, I can’t,” he replied with his brow deeply knitting in the centre and pointing down.

“Yeah, you can. C’mere,”

“No, you’re hurt,”

“Winter,”

“No,”

“Winter-,”

“No,”  

“Bring that gorgeous ass over here and cuddle with me,” he blurted out flatly, holding his needled hand out for Winters’. His sentence had actually seemed to shock him into silence which he found really funny. He didn’t laugh though. He just held out his hand for him. He smirked though, watching as the shock gradually dropped as he composed and he just sighed, looking to the door for a split second before getting up from his seat and stepping forward. Winter turned and sat on the edge, taking his shoes off before carefully climbing up onto the mattress and shifting a bit closer. Brock already had his arm out and slung it around the man, resting it around his shoulders. Luckily, that was the am that only had the butterfly needle in his hand. No wires or tubes, so he wouldn’t end up tangling them together.

They shifted more until they actually managed to get into a comfortable position, Winter with his head on Brocks shoulder, being seriously careful. His metal arm was across his stomach, the lower half, and he was being insanely careful with his leg. Which he’d realized was casted tightly from mid-thigh to mid-calf, keeping it slightly bent, but comfortable. A full cast would’ve been a pain in the ass, so he was thankful they only gave him a knee cast. And Winter was being really, _really_ careful with it. He’d slotted his bottom leg under it, as a pillow, and the other was just resting beside it.

It was oddly comfortable and he really wasn’t hurting like this, no pain. He was thinking that Tynichia may have given him morphine before taking the other tube out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a pretty laid back chapter with Brock not being able to get out of bed and the whole cuddly stuff at the end. What'd you think? What was your favourite part? I'm gonna go ahead and guess, saying that the kiss was your favourite xD Definitely was mine, as well as the "Bring that gorgeous ass over here and cuddle with me," quote from Brock xD Those two were my favourite.
> 
> I'll really have to make sure that I only have one favourite each chapter in the next part of this series. I can't just keep liking more than one part each chapter and ask what your favourite part was. It's not fun then xD JUST ONE FAVOURITE!! That's gonna make it really hard to choose xD 
> 
> Again, I thank you so hard!! And I'm sorry to say that there's not a lot of chapters left, 3 or 4 at most :/ damn, but I can get right into the next part to this, so it shouldn't make anyone feel too bad about this ending. Because it's basically not xD


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so "maybe" one more chapter after this, not including the end author-note/chapter where I give you the rundown on the next part to this series with the link that sends you to it. :) 
> 
> I'll give you the whole soppy 'see you in the next blablah' at the end of this story. I say it like that because it isn't really sad that this story is ending, if anything, it opened up way more places and doors for me to write my way through :) It's made me happy because this is a successful piece for me. I really love it and I love all of you for joining me in this RumBuck story. 
> 
> Hope to see you there by the way, in the next RumBucks' to come :)

Waking up feeling a comforting warmth was rare, really rare. He’d felt a nice warmth maybe the last few days of waking up with Brock attached to him, back in the apartment when they shared the space. He’d gotten used to getting into bed with him and he’d expected the odd cuddling almost every morning at that point. James started to like it, it made him feel safe, even more so that it was his old handler holding him. But this warmth, in his opinion, it felt stronger, warmer, way more comforting. It sounded cliché, but that was the only real description that came to mind. It felt stronger. He felt warmer, safer, wanted… _he felt wanted_.

And Brock didn’t push him away during that kiss, that last second action that his body just acted on at seeing him awake and cracking a joke. He wasn’t pushed away, and he even urged him to cuddle on the hospital bed. He hadn’t pushed him away in general, in fact, he’d pulled him back for more. And it made him smile. Just the thought that Brock wanted it, wanted more. He’d felt a sense of pride, happiness.

James knew he was awake. He knew how he breathed when he was asleep, easy, slow. At the moment it was slightly off by a millisecond of a millisecond. He didn’t say anything though. The soldier stayed quiet and kept his eyes closed, listening to the heartbeat close to his ear. It was beating, almost rhythmically with his own as he just layed there against him, minding his injuries.

“I thought that-,” James tensed immediately and automatically sat up in the bed, staring wide eyed at Steve who stood in the doorway. “-you’d at least wait until you were back at the tower before you’d start getting into bed with him,” he didn’t know what to say, what to do. Steve had caught them cuddling and it felt a lot more awkward than having Barton catch them. He just stared, silently and stiffly.

“My fault,” James snapped his head around to see a tired Brock still lying there, half asleep, half not. His free arm had moved until it was bent behind him as an extra pillow and his eyes were still closed. “I complained until he got on the bed with me,” he took a slow second to eye him over, watching as his eyes opened and turned to him, gazing a little with groggy eyes. James gave a quick, soft smile and climbed off of the bed, pulling his shoes back on and tying them up loosely before sitting in the chair and tying them properly. “Captain,” Brock was playing it safe, addressing Steve formally, or as formally as he used to.

“Rumlow,” he could practically hear the arms crossing and the tenseness in his tone. “How are you feeling?” James looked up and leaned back in his chair, watching as the captain stepped further into the room and let the door close behind him. The three of them were now in a closed room together, all awkwardly stiff. Steve, probably because he was chatting with Rumlow. Brock because Steve was there and James because… Steve caught them cuddling.

“Better than I should,” Brock muttered as he tried to sit up a little, to which he frowned at and almost got up to lie him down, though he’d resisted pretty well.

“Been about a day since we got you here,” James should’ve explained the time spent there. He’d forgotten. He was supposed to tell him about the few hours there and what happened on the way, going into shock. And Steve helping in his attempt of survival. The blood. “You can thank the super serum,” though it seemed that the captain was going to tell him instead.

“What?” the soldier gradually looked over at the man in the bed, seeing the wide eyes and knitted brow, like he was taken aback by his few words. James would’ve been too, if he were in his situation. Brock had super serum lacing his veins, healing him as fast as it could. He wasn’t sure of what other effects it could give him, slightly enhanced strength? Faster reflexes? Faster healing? Basically everything would be a few fractions higher in enhancements. Hearing, taste, sight, touch and smell included.

“I was a close enough match for a blood transfusion,” James continued to watch him, gauging his reaction to all this. He’d stunned, his expression staying the same with the knitted brow and wide eyes, but they lowered to where he was staring at the bottom of the bed, though not really seeing it. His breathing had picked up a little too, his body seeming to want to become flustered, but Brock held it back.

“I have… super serum in me,” was all he could, his features becoming just a slight bit thoughtful with his roughly spoken sentence.

“Enough to heal you,” Steve mentioned with a one shoulder shrug. His voice dropped, to seem softer than a second ago. He turned sympathetic for the moment as he spoke his next sentence. “There was a high chance that you would’ve died without the transfusion,” and James wouldn’t have known what to do with himself if that had happened. He’d have locked himself away, reverted to the man he became after he’d broken from the Winter Soldiers name and was forced to stay in the large, lonely Tower, with Steve knocking on his door every few minutes to make sure he was fine.

“I uh…” James could see the struggle in him, like he was trying to find the best way to show that he was thankful to him. He was trying to say thank you, but it was stuck in his throat maybe.

“I didn’t do it for you,” the captain cut in before he could actually show him any gratification. Which was a little rude, but he meant well. He knew. The soldier turned his gaze to the other when he’d caught the throat clearing sound, his arms losing the tension while still crossed over his chest. He was calming down, relaxing slightly. Probably good news. “I spoke to the doctors, and they’ve agreed that we can get you outta here,” very good news. Finally. James shifted to lean forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees as Steve turned and placed a hand on the door, ready to open it. “You’ll be staying in the Tower under Barnes’ care,” and that was the last thing he’d said before opening the door and stepping out, letting his close behind him as he left and rounded the corner nearby. To more than likely talk to a nurse.

“The only part of that conversation that didn’t sound terrifying was being put in you care,” James surprised himself with a chuckle, the sound actually leaving him without the soldier being able to stop it. It seemed to bring a crooked smile to Brocks’ face, so he’d let it slide.

“He can make anything sound scary if he really wants to,” he muttered and pushed himself to stand from his seat, stepping over to the bed table to pack up the few things that Brock had. There were spare clothes there, and he was thankful that Barton was about the same size as the former agent, almost the same build and broadness. They were both a tad taller than James, both a tad shorter than Steve. So he was grateful to the archer for lending him the spare clothes.

“No fuckin’ kidding,” the soldier lightly tossed the clothes over, the fabrics landing right next to him on the bed. He watched as Brock eyed them before trying to sit up further, pushing himself and straining. James was ready to help if he pushed himself too hard, but he knew that the man would hate to be helped straight off the bat. The soldier would wait until he was called for or until he knew he was needed. Rumlow was pretty stubborn, so he imagined that he’d intervene before he was called on. He remembered Brock being the type to hurt himself for resorting to calling for aid. Stubborn jackass.

“Get dressed and we’ll get going,” he could hear him grunting and wincing as he managed to get halfway back over the bed, moving the clothes out of the way to get his leg over the edge, and then the shot one. He was lightly panting and huffing from the pain of moving it and he was sure it would take a lot more time for that wound to heal, there being no doubt that he’d have a long-term limp from that particular hit. He was sure his chest was hurting just as bad. He wouldn’t say he knew how it felt. He’d never been shot before, being a master sniper and fighter and everything. He was hard to hit or find, but Brock was just human. He’d have lasting pain from the recent events.

“To the Tower? Starks’ place?” he huffed, James watching carefully and at the ready as he shifted to the edge of the bed in his hospital gown. He reached up and grabbed at it, the knots being loose enough for him to pull it off from the front and he let it drop to the floor. Brock was eyeing his leg and chest, carefully touching the red casting that was wrapped from mid-thigh to mid-calf, tight and secure enough that he wouldn’t be off balance as much as if he had the full leg cast. He must feel at least a little grateful for not having that huge, clunking, thick white cover.

“Yeah. He and Steve live together and after all this HYDRA stuff, I’m pretty sure Steve wants me close,” James wasn’t too happy with that thought, but he’d be safe until someone confirmed that he wasn’t being followed anymore, or that HYDRA was taken out so he could finally live without having to look over his damn shoulder. Though… he’d like to look over his shoulder and see Brock there, watching his six and keeping him as safe as he could get. It didn’t seem too bad if he thought about it like that. “So, that means you’re staying too… right?” he tried not to sound as hopeful as he’d imagined while saying it.

“Really think I wanna be separated from you, Winter?” James stared, eyes completely fixed on the man that was now standing, one leg bent up to keep the pressure off. He was staring back, a soft expression on his face as he turned and amusedly hopped closer while using the bed as leverage.

… “Do you?” he questioned weakly, knitting his brow and holding out his arm for aid if it was needed. Brock was close now, looking down at him with an open face and he lightly shook his head.

“Fuck no,” he didn’t flinch when Brock leaned in, gently knocking their heads together before actually pressing their lips together. James had been ready for it and almost smiled when the warmth hit him, the hot, moist lips pressing against each other and moving fractionally, kissing over and over, though they lingered each time. With each one, he seemed to just gravitate closer, his free hand reaching out to rest on James’ bicep before sliding around his shoulders.

He did actually smile, feeling Brock do the same as they pulled back from the kissing. True, it was almost a peck really, but they had time. They had nothing but time at this point. Though there were still questions that needed to be answered, and he was more than sure that Steve would want to hear what the former agent had to say. It was important. And James had a few of his own.

“Get dressed. We need to get going,” he continued to smile.

\--------------------

As soon as they got into the Towers’ elevator Brock huffed and dropped back against the wall, feeling no shaking or any stability from his weight being thrown back against the walls. Cap just looked and it and Winter actually flinched, like he wanted to just reach out and hold him up himself. He gave him a reassuring smirk as he panted and wheezed though, his body still wrecked and overused from the walk up the stairs of the underground SHIELD hospital and then the walk to the car and then out of the car to the Tower doors. He’d held everything back until the doors closed and the thing started going up. He still hurt like hell, but he was still really grateful about getting out of there and having Rogers’ blood pumping in his veins, healing him up.

The one crutch he had, having declined the two ‘cause it’d destroy his pride, was sort of useful, but he’d already had enough of the damn thing.

“As soon as you reach your floor, make sure he rests and doesn’t strain himself,” he heard the Captain say to Winter, watching as they shared a look and then a nod. Brock would assume that they spoke telepathically if he didn’t know them.

It wasn’t long after that, maybe a couple of seconds, and the elevator stopped, the doors opening into a dim hallway with bare walls. He eyed it and pushed himself from his slouched position as Winter stepped forward to help him.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” he heard Rogers say from behind them, feeling the soldier next to him look over his shoulder and give him a look before he limped his way into a dark living room, the lights starting to blink on, on their own as they stopped just inside. It was nice, a bit plain, but he assumed that this being Winters’ room, it would be. Every little trinket and poster and things were moved into the apartment that was probably still being looked at.

“Sit,” James pointed towards the big, plush, curvy sofa before stepping away and heading into the kitchen. Everything looked tidy, completely organized and neat, like it was cleaned up before or after Winter left it. And Brock decided to listen to the soldier, slowly limping his way towards the couch and then carefully turning to sit on it, his shot leg stretched out in front of him because of the damn cast. He rested back and dropped his head onto the back of it, calming himself, trying to relax his breathing and muscles and trying to ignore the fucking pain throbbing through him.

“Here,” Brock lifted his head and lazily reached up with one of his hands, a tired smile on his face as he gratefully took it.

“Thanks,” he brought it to his lips and took a long sip, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Winter turned away and headed towards a room around the side, out of his sight. He stopped drinking, furrowing his brow for a second. “Where you going?” he kept an ear out. e was probably just thinking about taking a quick shower or something, or maybe he had a bar back there or whatever.

“To change out of these damn clothes,” his gear, Winter Soldier gear. He didn’t think about that. The soldier must’ve been wearing the same gear since entering the HYDRA base and he’d been wearing it while in bed with him and on the way back. Brock felt sorry for the guy, having to wear it for god knows how long and he assumed that he didn’t leave his side while he was out. So he’d worn it for a really long time. Did he leave to at least take a piss?

“Badass super soldier turned into a domestic soldier in a matter of seconds,” he chuckled slightly and took another long sip, sighing and resting back again, his head dropping. He only tilted his head a little when he heard the scoff and saw the man come around the corner, wearing dark grey, baggy lounge pants, black socks and faded red t-shirt, a little baggy, like the trousers. Instant relaxed appearance.

“Jackass former agent turned into a limping, jackass former agent with just one gunshot,” ouch! Rumlow laughed and reached out the glass to him, letting him grab it to take a small sip before giving it back and moving to sit next to him, a leg bent up as he reached his hands back to mess with his hair. Brock missed the black band that was wrapped around his wrist. He was tying his hair up in a messy bun.

“Ow, hitting below the belt on that one, harsh,” he reached his free hand out and rested it along the back of the sofa, behind Winter and waited until he was done with the bun to wrap his arm around his shoulders and drag him in closer, hearing the light laughing.

“I’m not saying sorry,” Winter leaned closer, his hand moving to rest of his thigh as they relaxed there, Brock still holding onto his cup.

“Don’t expect you to,” he shifted in and placed a kiss on his temple, resting his forehead there right after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? what's you think? It was mostly a bit of filler for me to get into the next chapter, but I tried to make it as entertaining as possible. Enough for me to ask what your favourite part of the chapter was anyway. What "was" your favourite part? I actually liked when Steve caught them at the start and Brock owned up to getting James into bed with him. It was a short moment, but funny in my opinion. What they said, the dialogue was fun to write too. :) 
> 
> Let me know what your bit was!! xD I really love hearing what you have to say, or 'reading' what you have to say :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 21 chapters and it's finished :) I'm really, truly proud of this story and how far it actually came. I'm also really grateful to you guys that followed and joined in to help it go this far. I never actually planned for a majority of the stuff that happened here.
> 
> I'll write the mushy stuff in the end note of this story, the very last chapter. Not really a chapter though. It'll basically the page that will send you off into the sequel to this that will be posted at a later time :) very soon though, maybe a few days? 
> 
> Either way, I'm seriously thankful to have you all here with me and I'd like to hear what you have to say once you finish reading.

Being scrutinized by agents and captors were easy to deal with, really easy. Brock knew how to act, how to fake, how to feel and what to say.

But the Avengers, that was a whole new deal, one he’d rather not end in a bad way. Rogers, Stark, Barton and the Black Widow were there on Winters’ floor of the Tower, watching him with steady eyes, the Widow with deadly ones. He was glad that the soldier was there with him, still sitting close, but with cross arms to feign how close they actually were. He’d put a bit of distance for professionalism and he’d respect that.

“He took me ‘cause he wanted payback for me ditchin’ HYDRA,” he casually answered Caps’ previous question. ‘Why was he abducted’. “Kid wanted to torture me for hangin’ him out to dry,”

“You trained him?” Rogers asked with a crooked brow raise, eyeing him carefully. He did train him, right after his former trainer was done. Ward needed to go up in the chain and Rumlow was the one to do it because of his higher rank and skillset. What he did was way above what Garrett did, and it’d go unnoticed since he was doing the training for a few agent-ees’ at the time. Easy.

“To a point. Garrett had him before I did, and the guy wanted me to train him to kill, torture, interrogate, etcetera,” he shrugged lightly. And he did train him to do just that. It would be his fault that the kid turned out to be that dangerous. Hell, even a punch from the Winter Soldier hadn’t fazed him, broke his face, but didn’t faze him. He’d be proud if he liked the little shit and didn’t want him dead, and was a part of HYDRA again.

But… he did and he wanted to shoot the fuck right in his smug face with one of his own satisfied grins on his features. Oh, he’d love to boot the basterd right in his teeth. Or like he said back in the cell with the kid, ‘ _rip his spine out and feed it to him_ ’.

“And he felt abandoned, so he blamed you,” the Widow summed up calmly from her firm, dangerous position off to the side, beside Barton, who was sitting in the recliner like there was no threat in the room. Which there wasn’t. Barton had hung with him a few times back in the apartment and he’d gathered that Brock was okay to be around. He wasn’t the threat.

“You got it,” he clicked his tongue, subtly rolling his shoulders and trying to ignore her penetrating gaze. It felt like she was doing the most scrutinizing and warning him via straight faced anger. She probably wanted to take her aggression out on him too, for the one fact that he was former HYDRA. She’d probably kill him with her eyes until he was out of the Tower.

“Why’d you leave HYDRA in the first place?” Stark finally joined in, seeming to be interested now. He’d been staring around since they got there, just idly hanging in the background and wanting this to be over so he can do whatever the hell he wanted. Brock would’ve come up with a funny example of what he’d do, but he really had no clue what the guy did apart from building robots and suits. Obviously there was a lot more, he was drawing a blank because he was on the spot and being stared at by the _Avengers_.

“Had enough. I wanted out,” he took a quiet and easy breath, relaxing back into the sofa for a moment and seeming as calm as he could be in this situation. “Didn’t realize until I was in the burn-ward that I was expendable, and they didn’t give a damn ‘til I was on the mend,” just recalling the whole thing pissed him off.

“You meant nothing to them,” Widow spoke up again, another short, flat summary of what he’d basically just said. She really had a way of making people feel confident… (Sarcasm)

“That’s where it gets screwed up,” Brock pointed out with a little head tilt, his hand reaching up to rest along the back of the sofa in a casual manner. Surprisingly, he was calming down as he continued to relax, even with the guys and girl staring at him. Baron was calm, Winter too, Stark seemed just ‘whatever’, so their posture was probably helping the atmosphere. “They didn’t care until everyone knew that Pierce died. They must’ve found his notes or some shit and realized what I actually was to the boss,” he could’ve worded that better, but it meant that they’d get an idea that something had been going on that barely any HYDRA agent even knew about.

“And what were you?” Cap questioned, his brows now frowning in question while still staring at him like he was about to be thrown into another cell. Hopefully, he wasn’t, and if he was, he really hoped that he could talk his way out of it.

“ _The heir to HYDRA_. Pierces’ words,” he sighed, staring up at the now stunned looks, every one of them now staring at him like he’d said something incredible. Winter seemed to be the only one that wasn’t too surprised. Did he tell him already? “I was the next figurehead,” Brock shrugged.

“Whoa whoa, your Pierces’ kid?” Stark questioned loudly and incredulously, pointing at him. His son? Fuck no!

“What? No!” he voiced his last thought, giving him a disgusted expression before waving his hand off, like he threw the idea aside. “He just named me the next guy to lead,” he summed up easier, glancing between him and the Cap, seeing the now thoughtful frown, like he was thinking over the information in his head before giving his opinion.

“Why?” he seemed to come out with instead, like he wanted more to go on before giving it to him.

“Pretty sure they didn’t give a damn about my skills sheet,” Brock waved his arm loosely, as if to shrug off the idea. He was told why, Pierce gave him the run down bluntly but privately. Hell, his STRIKE team didn’t even know about it. “All boils down to the fact that I was the best match to Wint-, _James_ ,” he swiftly corrected. The nickname would either be lost on them, or they’d think he was being disrespectful and taking the piss out of the solder.

“Best match?” Rogers frowned further and with a stronger roughness to his tone. He was getting close to nerves here, now starting to talk about Winter, who was a sore spot for the American hero. He was basically about to prod at his opens wounds.

“-He was his handler,” Barton chirped up from where he was relaxing in the recliner, legs crossed on the cushion that flips out from underneath it. He looked like he could fall asleep right there.

“His handler…” Cap spoke flatly and Brock was biting at the inside of his lip, gauging their reactions. They just seemed to go quiet and send a few dirty looks his way. Though Widow had eased up into a curious, but still deadly gaze. He cleared his throat and continued where the Pigeon left off.

“Yeah. Unlike the others he’d had, I never took advantage of the power I had on him,” he shrugged again. He’d been doing a lot of that since this first started. Guess it was one of his defensive actions or whatever.

“He never hurt me,” Winter chirped up, catching Rumlows’ attention. He glanced over, seeing the tense and stiff muscles on his arm. He’d assume that every other muscle under those baggy lazing-around clothes were the same with his current posture on the sofa.

“Buck?” Rogers’ voice actually sounded a little weak there, the faint crack in his tone breaking the name into different pitches. This must’ve been the first he’d heard of any of this and how many years had the soldier been back? That’s gotta hurt to hear it now, of all times. Years later with no word of what the guy had gone through before Brock showed up.

“I’m fine. After he became my handler, it got better and I got over the shit the other ones pulled,” he’d describe that tone as defensive hiding, summing up a quick sentence of some good things and then deflecting. He was no stranger to that, to and from this soldier.

“But Bucky, I-,”

“It’s fine, Steve, seriously. I’m all good,”

“How come you never hurt him?” Brock turned his head to Stark, who was staring him dead in the eye with an overly curious look on his face. What, was it a bad thing that he never hurt him? The scrutiny just seemed to grow from this part of the conversation. It actually pissed him off a little that his tone grew a little strong and a frown pulled his brows together to dip down in the centre.

“‘Cause I’m not a sick enough basterd to take advantage of him. I was given a job and I worked it professionally,” he said with a down curve in his lip, not actually liking how agitated he must’ve seemed there.

“Until the praises, comments and nicknames came into it,” and the aggression was gone. Seriously, Winter just saying that made the irritation and agitation just roll off like a slinky going down a long set of stairs. It was all dropping from him and he sent a small, crooked smirk his way. It had some comfort in it too, seeing the other man look his way with the same expression.

“Like hell was I callin’ you _the Asset_ ,” Brock pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone, crossing his arms over his chest as if to emphasis his opinion.

“You knew you’d get into trouble if Pierce found out and you did it anyway,” his smile had turned to a flat pointed look that said ‘ _he was an idiot and shouldn’t have done it_ ’. Yeah, shouldn’t have done it… the idiot would still think of himself as a weapon and would probably still be in the hands of HYDRA if he hadn’t. He’d probably hate himself way more than he already did and he’d be way more damaged if he hadn’t done a damn thing.

“‘Cause what they did to you was all kinds of fucked up,” he responded almost as incredulously as Stark when he thought he was Pierces’ son. “Like hell was I gonna just leave you like that! That’d make me as bad as every other HYDRA fucktard,” it really made him sick and he wasn’t like any of the other members. No way would he treat him like everyone else did. He had standards at the time and there was no damn way that he’d take advantage of this guy.

“Whoa, hang on. Why would you get into trouble?” Rogers’ pointed out to him, his hand hovering in the air in front of him like Brock had just been a bad boy or some shit. He let a sigh slip his lips and he stared at the bigger man for a few seconds.

“Because what I did was ‘ _humanize_ ’ him. The names, the comments and stuff,” he counted off with his fingers before resting them on his thighs and looking down at his bandaged and plastered hands. He tilted his head towards Winter, seeing the calm, content look on his face, even though he was still a little tense looking. And that was where he started from where he stopped.

“He made me feel human instead of the weapon they made me. I was meant to be ‘ _just a weapon_ ’, but he showed me that I wasn’t,” the soldier looked away with a hidden, soft smile and gradually seemed to relax.

“Did you know that _that_ was what you were doing?” Brock looked up to the Widow, seeing her softer gaze and he wasn’t too sure if he was more afraid of that than the looks he was getting before. Hopefully, it meant that she didn’t hate him as much as a few seconds ago. He didn’t want to end up dead just by walking around a corner.

“At the start, no,” because he didn’t. He hadn’t realized until Winter said his first normal reply to him, none of that ‘Status’ bullshit or the blank and confused looks he’d gotten. The first real thing he said and that was when he’d realized that he may have just screwed up HYDRAs’ plan. Luckily, it had only been when they were either alone or when he could say something without getting odd looks for saying it.  

“How long did it take for Pierce to notice?” she eyed him over, her gaze still between curious and deadly. She seemed to genuinely want to know too.

“Not long, a few weeks?” he answered with a little uncertainty. “About three, maybe,”

“Three weeks and a few days,” Winter supplied, giving him a little smile of ‘you’re welcome’ as Brock turned to him with one of his own smiles.

“But you still carried on treating him like that?” she was on a roll now, one question, and now another.

“Yeah,” he shrugged for the umpteenth time during this whole conversation. “Yeah, I did. I may have been with HYDRA, but I was nowhere near as sick, as twisted, as cruel or as brutal as any of them. It’s one of the reasons Pierce picked me to lead after him, and it’s a huge fuckin’ reason he assigned me as James’ handler,”

“Because you’d never hurt him,” Rogers’ spoke up, catching his attention and he looked up to him, watching him as a smile gradually grew on his face. “And instead, you got closer,”

“Acquaintances, to friends, to a hell of a lot more than that,” he finished that sentence by turning his smile at Winter, seeing his smile growing again, everyone seeing it too. He kept grinning, even when the soldier pushed himself up from his seat and moved closer, walking over until he was right in front of him. No one said anything as he practically climbed into his lap and straddled him, knees on either side of his hips and minding his injuries. He was insanely careful, and then he was leaning in, both of them on view for everyone to see Winter press in close and kiss him, opened mouth and everything.

Brock hands went straight to his hips, on resting there and the other gradually climbed up his spine a few inches, just above the small of his back. He kissed back eagerly, moving their mouths together until Winter pulled back and dived back in, connecting and disconnecting over and over.

“Anyone got a ship name for these two?” Barton was heard in the background, very vaguely. “I’ma go with RumBuck,” Winter gradually tilted his head, the kiss slowly softening, growing calm, easy and not at all frantic like a second ago. Brock reluctantly pulled back, only a little to see Winter leaning so close he could almost see the different shades of blue in those damn gorgeous eyes. He let his smile come back, seeing James’ too.

He reached both arms around the soldier and rested his chin against his collarbone, pulling him into a warm embrace. He felt Winters arms wrap around his shoulders and then felt a warm, moist kiss being pressed to his temple. That was enough of a statement to show that this was happening, _like seriously happening_.

Dating the Winter Soldier? He could handle it, and all the looks SHIELD and the Avengers would throw his way. He was seriously just waiting for ‘ _the talk_ ’ from Steve Rogers now.

“You know, someone could make a story or a movie out of these two. Bucky-loving Commander Baby,” he could imagine Stark doing a rainbow gesture to go with that crappy title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the 1st part to this series is a-done, thank you so much, again :) Really, thank you.
> 
> I'd really like to hear what your favourite part was, mine being the ending, typically. It was short, sweet and had a statement from the both of them right at the end scene. Oh, and where Brock made it clear that he'd never treat James like every other agent did. :) What was yours?  
> And, just in general, what did you think of this story? The entirety of it. And the hard question... What was your all time favourite part of this whole story? Out of the 21 chapters. It'd either be when Rumlow wakes up in the apart and says "Status report" with James' reply being "I'm not a puppet", or the ending, where 'this was happening' was though by Brock. 
> 
> I'd really, seriously like to hear what you thought, about all of this and what you liked the most :) Please let me know, I'd really love to hear what you have to say :)
> 
> PS: The name, "Bucky loving Commander baby". It's a thing "sarahnotduck" and I've been doing for the last few chapters. We just started calling Brock Poor Commander baby after he kept getting hurt and we just started lengthening the name. 
> 
> We eventually ended up with= "Poor manly, stud muffin, beef cake, alpha male, dominant dude, big man, Jackass former agent turned into a limping, jackass former agent with just one gunshot, Bucky loving Commander baby,"  
> I think "sarahnotduck" and I would really like to see how long and funny it could actually get, so if you want and if you think it'll be fun, have at it and write a really long-ass name, but with "Poor Manly" at the beginning and "Bucky Long Commander Baby" at the end :) So "Poor manly- ________ -Bucky Loving Commander Baby" have fun :)


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